Here, have an ax then.
A smile goodnight
And I'm off.
Here then, have an ax friend,
A smile and knife
And I'm off.
Sent and then away.
Sent and still away, then
Aren't you glowing?
A nod to the faint small line growing,
Harboring naught,
Neither feint nor flaunt,
What haven't the silent ones thought?
For them that
Forget their fame, magnificent,
A march melting race.
Wait til November, or the morning time,
Whichever: I don't mind.
Fat chance,
Forced hands, sand on the beach.
Tossing like a ship in a dream,
The shape is yet to be.
Protean.
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