The days are flying and I chew my fingers more.
I'm burning with my waste, no more the A to B man,
my dreams are limited by my lack of imagination.
No vision but the trees that blow in the evening,
the acid taste of coffee in my mouth each day.
No visions guide me now,
I'm waiting for what the world can become
if left on its own.
gallagher
10-30-76
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —