his
kindness
including
us all
‘isn’t
he a bit like you and me?’
lurching
around in the dusk
grown
restless
all
he needs all he seeks all he wants
is
all that he writes for
is
all that he sings desperately about
with
crying eyes
beneath
a bloated neck
and
a ragged sprawl of hair
the girl the woman the ocean child with the fire off the reef
seashell eyes windy smile
holds
me
how can I live without knowing that somewhere in the world
John Lennon is alive?
knowledge that flooded incessant days
with magic
a relationship triggered by the simple word ‘yes’
something positive an upsurge for once in a belonely time
he’s buried ‘neath concrete in Central Park
and I get the feeling elsewhere
a smile a dance a quietly strummed guitar a girl
a circle drawn
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