to contrails
dreaming magic jets autographing air
verses and musings of j stoeckmann, all rights reserved.
dreaming magic jets autographing air
the love we make, the light will know it’s ours
Death slouches mean under clouds
Drink of this my salty cup of essence frail
Greetings! It’s time, some things old, some things new, and me of course, thinking of you. Merry Christmas and all
told him to carry his self and what he could worry
Never made it out of her liquid opal eyes
where our hearts used to be is gone
Time delivers grace in harmony.
I was your first when you spit