FOXES IN THE TREES
Except for the T-shirt with the bull’s-eye in the middle of the chest, she usually didn’t give me gifts, but I digress, Let’s do what’s best as these are phrases of purpose proving that when my streams of conscious fail , they always fail to get me near, false hope faded on a dead end trail , but this soapbox is sincere
So though short of certain clever, focus on now or never , Should I fear true content , abandoning our love her planned intent. Love is An exotic condiment , with its fresh cut edge as nourishment. A Freestyle journey To stir our souls , Freedom within this creative domain must remain a sacred honest endeavor To dilute cliche’, to strain mundane until the conversational melody is such that we need not explain.
We could mold sophisticates into words that may somehow rebirth as lyrics. but we’ll go back to that another time, but first, why did I fear it? When I was in the forest that time, when she attempted a simple rhyme , it did remind of that Spinner’s song that’s upside down like howdy doody your clowns too , they’re all laughing at you and why were they even there and didn’t say or stay in the middle of the road? I didn’t have no time to count the foxes hidden in the trees today and she didn’t have no time to be a decent person, and the random gifts didn’t give me any lift.
That was just her way of hinting that she was going away, like howdy do, I don’t want them laughing at you. Just lookin for a clue as to what to do ,I don’t care if you’re on the side or in the ditch there’s no middle for me , as we proceed where there is no road,and when she left , she left my mind on overload
Bobby O