Do you know when you look at me It is a salvation

The soothing instrument beckons a longing from a hole
I just noticed was being rented
Belly’s grumble, nose’s itch from relaxing laughs of each note
Chipped red paint diminish the existence of a fire lane
That towers so far above, it wouldn’t even put out flowers in their bright circus tumbler act
If music is the creation of time, and syncopation is the perception
That beats in the subordinate rhythm have actually
Traveled back ward or forward in time…
Just when I thought there wasn’t room enough
For another thought in my head, I had this great idea—
There it stood, through an email of beans
Sometimes you see paint from a buried fear of betrayal
“Did it lubricate the fall?”
Thinking caps fueled by lemon juice and
Zaphod Beetlebrox’s Total Perspective Vortex equalizer
In a never ending quest for my boyfriend.