from the summer

the trick is to find purpose in the mundane 

like hopscotch bottle rockets 

off a sunset balcony 

and if dishes were horses 

i would be singing cowboy songs 

like tyson or lund 

and if worries were airline tickets 

i would be in the big smoke  

walking holes in my shoes along queen 

talking to myself 

'that oughta be a song' 

or 

'that oughta be a poem' 

or  

'i could set up camp in her teeth' 

it's true  

here we go again

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