Tag Archives: I’m flying back to Los Angeles today and per usual really openly praying to whomever needs to be prayed to that we don’t crash which is extremely morbid and which also has absolutely nothing to do wit

Ustaphors

The clouds across which two young lovers fly.
The ancient mistakes historians cite.
A bird whose song echoes through distant friends,
or rather the echoes, lost in the night.

The fields upon which two young lovers lie.
The recent mistakes the newspapers cite.
A cat whose shadows climb a crooked fence,
or rather the shadows, lost in the night.

The shoulders on which two young lovers cry.
The frequent mistakes mothers like to cite.
A tree whose branches creak like lovers’ beds,
or rather the lovers, lost in the night.