written off the cuff

same old stuff
different day
got nothing much
on my mind
the nights get longer and my
thoughts may wander

street lights
flood a near by store
with beers hang from the ceiling
their reflections
dance across the floor

stories told of
an old gray bearded man
with a walking stick
and a book in hand
a title from
the dusty old shelves
that nobody’s read

the words on the pages say the same old
just a different day
written off the cuff.

[finn perkins 9.16.2004]


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