Paint chips from the postbox
Guys drive by showing limited talent
Clouds drift by on a warm breeze
The head of a flower lies on the window ledge
Forlorn and foolish, it cries out for attention
Till crushed by an empty glass and laughter
She complains of the cold now evening decends and sunburn cools
Conversations float through the air seeking an ear
Yet the day sits well on this calm sea
Passing in a car, a woman in an oxygen mask, maybe I am lucky
Roadsigns say West Cliffe or Long Stay
Whats the difference
The scent in the air is of roses and ozone
A man walks past carrying a book called Living Proof
Of what I ask myself
The existence of god or the world is round?
Or flat, who knows
Its all relative
Deep in contemplation, I notice my beer is almost finished
Perhaps this is the real reality
Stop and go Go signs, stop and go
Whats left of the flower move in the breeze
Everything is self explanatory if only they would explain it
Perhaps its only time for another beer