Jonesin’ For a Rubber-band And a Paper-Clip

december trees

I’m about to start re-drinking

Because there’s gold in that there dross

And when the poison leeches to the brain pan

You get to keep one good eye on the world


Where the misfits and miscreants find their

Foundlings in the warm glow of burned down

Libraries and we run like children with hair a-fire

Along the eponymous boulevards and destinies


Beyond the measure of science

Otherwise known as the reach after our grasp,

So there is where the blue is installed,

A temporal reference, a common smirk,


A touchstone to tether your sanity

Which is really just a red balloon,

Floating away in a skull so full of

Red balloons as to be anonymous


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