People speak of wordsmiths, as if they hammer text into shape; smelting down clunky prose, recasting from white-hot ink.

I’ll sit up all night, I don’t mind. I don’t have to Go to work, Or Wake up early.

It’s just another Day where I feel tired, but I Don’t know why it’s so.

The rain is filling up my shoes, I can’t see through my glasses, Rain all inside me.

A man walks up and faces this new red brick wall The bricks are all perfect as you might expect in a dream And the cement is tuck-pointed without a dribble, anywhere He looks at the wall and puts his head through it And when he pulls h

What if your teeth fell like so many rain drops gathered in a river

Bum on a Parisian stoop begging with his big Jackson Pollack bare head in the rain The water running in streaks all over his brain reminding him of a painting he once thought of Man standing outside a bar talking to his own reflection

Could I cache your kisses?