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Flying Fish.

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Master mind of the universe.

Old fusspot.

The riddle of this world

is a ball of string you wound up tight,

and now have to run with.

 

This morning, I am a cat sunning itself

on the threshold of my lovers home.

I can purr any complaint you have

into a dish of sweet milk.

Don't say you have tasted this before.

I just met you.

 

When you save the world

we will all be there to take the credit,

but its up to you.

Your body gets cranky

in this suit of existence.

Jump into a naked bath.

We are all flying fish in the sky net,

singing love songs to God.

 

love

 

eric

 

 

 

Copyright 2002. Eric Ashford.

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