lemon drop

believing I have good ideas, how grand
even great
imagine it there
a face you can forget of course
black cat has crossed my path
come down the metallic ledge
wait in vain
red thread in a sunburnt palm
damn cat damn sam
ego of a man
it was nice for a while
concrete trumpets
singing in lines
imagination tall
leaning on telephone crosses
evergreen beats and two pinkiless hands
strike the stars
d’amico metropolis made of three green lights
strap the back, no weight
freight lines grappling
woven pavement stone
real estate open
little crushed scorpion
(was only a sock)
playin drums
drum drum duh drums
give you my gentle fingers
sprawling out
white slippers to try
without numbers

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