Clean slates, they say, a thousand words is hazy

Blank pages from some campy autograph book

But Margaret Mary Ray, they said she was crazy


Keep on running then, swing the grappling hook

The projectile broke through you; it was his pen

But don’t halt climbs, spawn like you’re chinook


Late nights, working late shifts, again and again

He’s world’s apart, but in your home you see him

as he sees you, but if only he knew now like then


Reality is heavy, and falls, on the thought’s shim

Crashes as do hammers; it sells to all such might

Love is like a diaper, and zooms there on a whim

Stars are far away; the mindful burn those bright

Glimmer is but moment; somehow it seems right

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