Born again – as the rain falls, explaining itself, securely.
“Who am I to defeat the objectivity curve – to rattle the cage of the dawn – unopened, ridiculed, soothed and strummed?”
Exquisite lovers, hopelessly recovered, entwined, straddle a railway line. They are filled with optimism.
A clothed optimist cycles his sad bike down a winding, exquisite country lane, calling to the birds of mystery:
“Hey , who are you to apply your criteria to plates of sad cactus?”