morgueville,heartland living.

i've got a three-some
last night
with my nescafe and
othello.
That manic-depressive
pounding on the skirt of paranoia.
You waited by the
fences of Lalaland, but i have
got St.Robinson counting
crows in his Cadillac dream.
So now it's silent
and i'm painting it.
Yet you are lurking by
the background, hitting the atmosphere
and back.
Blows me away.
However cold, your alleged presence
manifest in my mind,
keeping me warm and i wonder
how now you contradicts
my indifference so late
in the night.