closet-thespian

I am so past the hey how are ya's and the how do you do's. I've snuck right past the dirty blues, The only if it were me's or you's, The I don't know who's. They are all the same, in different ways, With their hey's on the occasional rainy days in late Mays. While we sit around and talk about plays, All the while, strolling through the maze of hey's. And part of me would go to the heart of me, To the cherry tart and start falling apart, Please and thank you art.  I'm so good and bad, Just to say I've been wheeling this cart. As I watch it hover, finding no cover, or a lover or another Word to rhyme With time or meter just to dri

Perfect elegance of the water shimmering through the endless breeze. The man on the pier waiting for his fish to come. Looks over just to see – he's a careless dreamer, always hoping for the bite. He's an old man in the open seas, the salt is in his hair and skin. Sightless eyes, dark brown shoes. He is the bait.