hfs moment.

wandering over moon crescent hills

followed by streetlamp tophats,

who shine down on my refrains,

the autumn breeze, orange and lovely-

a perfume reminiscent of change  

                                        

i follow the path

i've laid- beaten before

to somewhere else

like anywhere else

                                           

a crazy man, stands at the corner.

telling the plants their adieus.

he'd return Sunday, and everyday

i think i too, am like that crazy man.

 

there was a girl, working the bookstore

wanderer, observer, she misses the city

we'd flirt- of course, we're both the same

something that drives me crazy

                                                        

so i walk the same line

as i had so many times

to the funeral of the crazy man

i hope he lies with his lilies.

                                                   

since then, ive been embracing

the things i took for granted

i bring daisies to the bookstore

and ive been binging 

the pains of young poets