I'm Surprised, But I'm Glad, I Realise

She Wonders If You Can Feel Nostalgic For Something Before It's In The Past, She Wonders If Perhaps Her Vocabulary Is Too Small Or If Her Chemical Intake Has Corroded It And The Music Goes Doowoah Doowoah.

There Are Only These: Sparkling Eyes, Smudged Lipstick, Fading Starlight, The Crunching Of Feet On Gravel, Laughter, And A Slow Walk Home.

It Is Something I Recognise In Myself. I Do Eavesdrop. I Do People-watch, A Lot.

I Say Too Much Of What, He Says Too Much Of Everything, Too Much Stuff, Too Many Places, Too Much Information, Too Many People, Too Much Of Things For There To Be Too Much Of, There Is Too Much To Know And I Don't Know Where To Begin But I Want To Try.

I Once Saw A Picture In The Paper Of John Hegley With 'poet' Written On His Knuckles, And I Thought That Was Pretty Cool, So I Was Quite Up Front About It.