the cold wind had the morning sunshine chilled;
warming flowers in Rio blew their fragrances
toward the North, stalled, gathering heat. soon
to make the chilly trip in the Jet stream.

and i'm wondering,

can i afford to retire; a place where
you're not known by what you do.
my ego is a fragile bubble, wiggling
in the floating sun's rays, entropic.

the song says, 'it ain't easy being easy.'

i welcome the strings section, tymbals
from cicadas, tympanum from others.
i'll sing off-key so as to fit in;
remembering all in all: Let It Be.

my dream no longer a trudge, a junket.

02/25/2010

Posted on 02/25/2010
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan