It is silent. You see some kind of pretend debt caught up to you.
A universal language causing holes in sidewalks
where flowers pop up.
It is not yet spring and already you're snide,
although nothing old is looking up to you.
Talk to me about this bleached winter,
all I know is that miserable fish are swimming
In the frosty lake and your lungs are very warm.
You've forgotten too many things.
Barflies have gathered and are singing.
I have too many hearts when you're looking at me.
Remember, pause, then go away.
You'll be happy, oh so happy, doing so.


By: Michele Neves =)