Again at the end of the rainbow.
Again no gold to
I wish I had a blue guitar,
A blue guitar to
The beautiful is not chosen.
The chosen becomes beautiful.
The beautiful is
Sat at my window watched the world
Wake up this morning
Purple
She hugged his head so hard to her heart
It made
No one in sight for fifty miles
Sleeping fields sigh as
Are you born yet?
Are you listening?
Are you sick of staring
No birds today
Just this square patch of gray
Molting sky moving
Someone
out there
kneeling.
No one
out there
listening.
But what I want to
Another note afloat upon this paper sea
Explain to me
How this
Place my body on the funeral pyre,
cut it loose to
