we sometimes forget that even on well laid tracks there are blind corners
do not approach me before i’ve had my coffee that’s what it should say
some can’t imagine that you could just turn the tap and get clean water
because they’re smiling we assume they are happy the blank stare says no
it doesn’t take much for lines to get blurred; a small obstruction will do
in the dark stillness as the heat of the day leaves one bell won’t do it
a hard-worn surface tells the story of life, yet we paint it over
it says “open” but i’m guessing that it is not an invitation
there’s a certain peace you only achieve when in a place you call home
in the end, we are the sum of all our stories make up some good ones
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