You spend your days looking for something On the tops of mountains

why is forgetfulness the plague of our alley?

layers of hibernating thundercloud a sky that is grey bc no stars are bound

i am not poor,  i'm just a mole

When the clock strikes noon, And it gets just so bright, With a crowd shuffling to and fro

The hues behind hidden holes, they're ubiquitous, pineapple

behind the words you speak to me there lie a discrepancy

The rise of the morning dew, The stillness of the walkers few

the red in my spec a fall at the rec