tomorrow morning
i will make sense of this
all this loose makeup
and throwaway lines
the forced mirth of a bull
whose horns are but
peep shows
carrion seeds
in need of some living
I can't turn a corner
without my horns
bumping
into the new furniture
a seasoned dictator
a horny minatour
tapered and practical
useless to most
but that be the numbers
a starry starry night
don mclean style
baby its another year