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Dear nightfall, don't come alone or let me stand here with only your tone poem breathing savage flaws in my imperfect ears. C'mon with your cat claws, like a razor tongued animal who feeds on morsels of music and who acts entirely on impulse. All that yesterday when the evening spirits grooved, you put an end to starlight, foraging for sleep so you could write down moods worthy of print. Now, the leaves can blush on any color, dance and die, bowing to all those notes you make with hand dented perfection, complete with snarls and eating noises.
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ŠJimmy Warner Design, 2010 |
