Bed in the center
Surrounded by trees
And fallen leaves

Half used pens in a coffee cup

Smelling is enough
David party of one

Dedicated to the art

The city is not a jungle
There is no clean well lighted place
No sauce making

My feet are snakes
My shoulder block of ice

Empty bleachers
Continent foot prints

All the pieces of fruit
The plastic clinging to
Edges of bowls

We don’t talk
We play music