Sandman

An old man sits upon a creaky chair

in a box full of sand

The box says "for free"

workers pass by the box

at dawn

at dusk

nobody wants the old man

but he's just fine

he prefers the car water

than the callused scarred hands

of a caretaker.

To The Basement

We virgins dance across plains

unable to find comfort in the sun.
Sing quietly of true ships,
inside ourselves

jewels melt the daylight

Across sky clouds we virgins sing.