My perfect life.Take Two.
Same old. Same old.
Exciting. For a bit. There. Not anymore. No. Same old. Same shit.
My perfect life.
Imperfect in places, not new. Never new. Not now. Not anymore. Gone. Already. Gone.
So it goes. There is goes, imperfect. Human, life.
Claws, jawbone, bone cage full of hopes.
Theatre place. Market place. Stupid pseudonym. Dance. A choir of ghosts. Papertowel. Just a mess.
My perfect life. Take two.
And he sits and he sighs.
And distractedly she looks. In a mirror. A pigeon flies south. Not a duck, nor a goose this time.
He sits and he ponders. He makes a mess with a tiny spoon in a cup of coffee.
Stir stir stir. Make a mess. Stir. Stir.
Sugar not included. Batteries not included. Instructions not included. Truth not included.
This perfect life.
Ah, sighs a paper tree, a mess, a pigeon, a dance of geese flying south.