The Plays the Thing (by me) Sometimes she is wistful for that girl from Neverland, she was a constant source of who knows what, a night bird in the streets. Flapping her cape of mysteries at that corner cafe, enticing passerbys with blueberry scones, on lazy daisy Sunday mornings. Music was always playing from painted front windows, and she would dance, without a modicum of modesty. With her toe ring and a towel around her dripping hair, another dye job, wet pastels on her fingers. Never frightened by the thunder that echoed, not until the fist of dissolution hit her, … Continue reading Come on and take that ride :: songs and poetry