Patron of our conversation,
Nevermind my nervous jester of gestures,
The wrist(both)
Keeping birds on their ends
As if you ordered toast
And the blushing bread talked to you,
I will let you decide
About playing pretend
Or
Lowering your head drums
To listen–

Oh saint of my sentences,
Hear your world
Know
No shadow dies with the day;
The papers that fill
The cerebellum vacancies
You can
Throw them away
It is a daily mess
Gallery for no one to see,

(You, streetlight
Me, standing)