What are they looking at?

We prefer the view.

The clouds tell us stories.

We read bedtime rhymes and tales.

Film, photo and hairpin bends.

Dabbling drizzle with a fizzle.

The lyrics were blamed for the lack of a billboard top ten entry.

Some disliked the music played on different lengths of scaffold pipes.

Others would never put the album cover on the wall, a drab picture of a drain.

The second work was a masterpiece.

Drifting on the fourth floor.

Everything valuable is on the fourth or fifth floor.

Isn’t that what say? OK. Perhaps not.

Doesn’t help much.

What does help, sometimes, is to know that every day is a new day.

Like a multi purpose card in a board game.

There they are.

Red and white, gold trim.

A mocha moment of explicit brilliance.

There are so many blades of grass to list.

So many planets to name.

I got the shopping, they ain’t got no onions.

Two cars passed me at the supermarket checkout.

Then I got on the bus.

Supreme luxury, velvet floors, and silver seats.

The driver looks like me.