An apple for the thought

I toss up all the gloss

on the skinny magazine

of goats and pulps fiction

I bring in the jasmine scent

to surrender all  my years to God

then I nibble my bread for fifty minutes

It’s in the life of a dreamer that I choose

sky watching as my habit for Saturday nights

and I love all the while surfing barely for the moon shaker

and here is the burnt lover sitting by the ashes of dead winter

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