I could write whole hours of my life—
some things very pointless,
some things that will be over in a minute,
that will last forever.
people would care,
it seems no one should care,
or if they do care,
when I try to explain what’s going on, I don’t know if people will construct a
home in their hearts for me.
So I built my own out of pens and sheets.
Some will come to my den I will greet them
with beginner’s luck we’ll chart the stars
and dance in the rain
and color our hair
till dawn when we part