in the time of dandelions,
I was a cactus,
trying to convince
headaches to be capital hope,
and text messages
to be something seen.
boiled like old sprite,
I find a payphone
and try to number,
get nothing,
but a dirty ear,
and a story to tell.
sterling and standing
still
on the laughable 2nd Ave T,
I feel a cold coming on
and comedy coming
as soon as the weather
and the waitress changes,
like they both did today.
cool, brisk, New York City,
ain't nothing better,
especially after heavy-wrist tomorrow,
and even my hot sadness
is no mathc
for autumnal hymns,
so pay close attention
because I have a positive message,
but sometimes I can't get it out.