sometimes, secret poetry
is my machine,
especially in misplaced pillows
that will promise today
and harm tonight.
good luck to us all,
and never lose that sense
of new, that tomorrow thing,
because when it goes,
it is hard to get back.
yesterday's problem is on
tomorrow's doorstep,
and the sun will start again,
growing lavender just before
we forget.
our skulls have been thrown
about the bad them
and one day we will say,
isn't that weird?
Good luck to us all.