In the absence of evidence,
I assert my own doing.
My attire--may I discard it.
On my wall, muses misheard
can't accuse. Bright balloons
hammer on the radio again.
In the past shared pound,
I was happy. Tango rattles night sky.
Listen. The featured piece came here
asking for submission. Wouldn't you
hit and run the riff, pass the punch,
and wilt in magic condensation
on the kitchen table? Somewhere
between absence and slipping is me,
and the hang'd man lies curled beneath.
Beat! Beat! I love these guys.
I had a fantasy to survive.
I do enjoy flicking morality.
6 hours ago