At The Bell

Fling that thing to the Moon
That thing that’s ailing you
Red flags, white flags, too

It’s not a day too soon
Let’s leave crazy to loons
Whose flightiness consumes

Consider this day new
Its call goes out to you
To sing the champion’s tune

Sunday Arrival

I left my lover girl, that busty girl, in Some Grand Place

Got on a plane and just left her there

Smiling, she, chasing me
A happy fool, out of breath, certain she’d succeed eventually

Waiting came, then
Watching

Her eyes half covered, like we were playing hide and seek and it was getting dark

Peeking

She didn’t want to lose me in the misty twilight

She didn’t lose me in the misty twilight

She didn’t lose me

She didn’t