obsessions

Every so often the dim of night
shrouds my window pains,
and the din of passing traffic slows to a halt,
and the seeping of velvet fog violin strings
pass through my walls,
playing far, far away, with you,
on the bright side, my friend

Don't give up

little child

of mine. You

are down 

there

somewhere,

lurking with

an impossible

smile. For

Sunday school

is almost over

It is life,

not you,

that is shrinking. 

You will stop

those thoughts

soon enough.