When all the sherbert spoiled, when all the fruit went dry, there was this cave painting that knew of my attraction to the neon blaze.
See what you can scrape up for pocket change as our spirits divide division and walk to the beat of a zebra's ghost.
Pouring the grapes over the rim of a familiar garden...your blue eyes and sleepy azaleas.
When the moon through clearly eyes, I saw a wolf I oft despised.