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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