The candelabra
Contained fire to guide us
We walk in the night.

The fruit of my loins
Has yet to meet fruition.
I will have a son.

Track lighting shines down
Partygoers drink spirits
Hope to drown sorrows.

I know Homer smoked
Else, how could a blind man see?
Write an Odyssey.

Sex is always good
Without attachments to hold
But she sunk her claws.

This song helps ground me
This endless song, no coda
No repetition.

Life on Boston Street
Vermont summers woven in,
Tom plays piano.

In midnight water
We swim, sans clothes and worry,
I’m wearing moonlight.