Place
She spoke of a different place. He kissed her sweetly. They were lovers once. She went away, he stayed behind. Years have passed and she still speaks of a different place.

Me
All my life I've wanted to fly and touch the sky. Just as I've wanted to swim to the bottom of the sea. Now comes the night with laughing blankets to cover me. Sleep slips past easily and free. Past the morning where wondering clouds wait for me.

Bed
There were voices that took me home. They picked me up when I had fallen...tongues as arms lifted my bruised and bloody self. Words of hate. Words of love. Words from those voices strong and merry took me round the reddening bend. Then the voices inside my hurting head screamed to drop me instead. But the good cords of love lifted me again like an outdoor song and carried me all the way to where I belong. To home where I slept in my own bed.

Distance
For everyone who has known a lonely city inside their dying heart, I speak to an echo and ask in rebel voice: Why to every life comes an early death? The answer came in wicked laugh and then died like what happens to me and you. I speak now to that lonely city and hear my words echoing in a distance.

Fred
There is a pattern to my steps.
Along these dark urban stairs I climb steeply to a park nearly in darkness. I arrive with my escaping breath. I rest. The pattern returns to my resuming steps. These deceiving eyes see dancers. Some say it is dangerous to walk this park at night. But I see not danger, but those deceiving  dancers in elegant dress. I'd dance too, but I am tone deaf and nearly blind. What a place to rest, I think. To close my olden eyes and twirl like Fred Astaire.