the square goes here, the moon right there the star is prickly, it won't share error and trial, miles and care the music you might have made where will you go all hot and spicy salient stares, all corners, icy you'd have grown in this space nicely if only you

This one rhymes. Jenny True Jenny, Jenny, Jenny No lead me where you want to go I may be aging and insane but I can walk you down that lane the playground of your sleepless nights where long ago you set your sites Jenny False or Jenny True pay attention,

there's a new kind of touch in this time in this place and it's all a bit much for this black and blue face I've got nothing to carry, nothing to lose and no one to blame for this big fake bruise jumping the gun and waiting too long just

I am not the object of a radiant woman's affection I've bundled the five hundred fourteen memories together and gone out to play in the rain because the spider said everybody loves a happy face terrific distraction terrific distractions drinks, music, dancing in the center square it makes me dizzy,

is it hazy out here, or is my dawn missing it's turned dark and light again since I've seen outside I've been playing so long the drinks, the cards, the people the important people they're packing they're leaving they're going surrounded by laughs and faces and jacks and aces nobody

This is meant to be spoken aloud. There is a loose template to follow, but the details should be filled in. Improv can be fun, but it's not required. The important points are to keep a rhythm going and to supply some level of emotional narrative. Template ...mind ...power ...magic.

and if I didn't already know everything I would sit myself down at your feet and watch the whole world slow down to match your gentle voice and soft sighs as you talk about your past and my future with the pride of a man who has beat hardship and

their branches spread across the sky as she laughs and prances and the trees sigh at her youth and pretty face and the daisies in her hands tomorrow she will be gone they murmur and the daisies will grow back

I walk past people hanging upside down they wonder why I'm upside down walking north did they stare at her too when she walked this way I stroll on tossing lies into the rain... I am walking south I say it always rains on Sunday I say all the pretty

I stand in my fountain of blue marble cherub leaking on my head I hear glass shatter behind the curtains I see the flames spread to the ceiling giggling I splash my face with cool refreshing water an old woman screams her hair is burning and the smell the smell

these hills have monks with dark robes and bottles and baritones singing slurred praises to he who provides the rain and the spring they dance whiskey jigs on the primal vibratos that tuck old men into cradles where heaven visits in nightmares and the monks stop the dance in the