My pockets are compiled
of odd things
I have ventured into the world
I bring you back shopping receipts
and old bubblegum.
what more can a wanderer offer?
what more can you beg from a dreamer?
I belong to the leap
the pure dive for something only
movement can give,
the running flames.
I hope to never taste like bitter butter
on stale bread
or smile with less sunshine on my lips
or stay longer than a city’s air permits.
Chances are :
you won’t forget me
you’ll never want to
I bring you all of me.
(Hello from Chicago folks!!)