Saturday, March 03, 2012

He sometimes tells himself,
It's just an everyday
But he never seems to find inside
The words he always meant to say
He's at home when the sky falls down
Puddled feet, muddled mind,
Head too high to find the ground

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How do I lose myself?

I am not easily misplaced Or forgotten, Arriving as I do Before even the curtains draw And that first morning jug boils, Bleary, yes Grudgin...