beyond the sea

Papercut Heart - Ian Sullivan Cant

and all the time a job a home a sink to leave the dishes in and go to bed at nine.
no one’s breaking through the palace gates to shoot the royal family.

I’m not feathers and hollow bones, or a skylark in a poem.
I can fly away like a torn flag in the wind.

Are you attracted to picking fuck-ups off the shelf?
Or are they all the shelf offers?

Put art in a headlock, and give it a noogie, because I don’t think you really need a poem, just someone to talk to.

I’m sorry for all this tangled thought, but goodbyes tend to make one think like this, don’t you think?

- rainfall

- a bending black bough

- a thousand leaves

makes one melancholy and reminds me of you. Because you were here yesterday, and now you’re gone,
and maybe yesterday was all a dream anyways.