4
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Imaginations
     
    
   
   
    
     
      THETREE
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Tdon’t
      now
      how
      he
      can
      do
      it
      just
      sit
      in
      that
      chair
      and
     
     
      not
      even
      attempt
      to
      rise
      no
      caring
      he
      just
      puts
      in
      his
     
     
      time
      the
      tree
      he
      once
      planted
      now
      dies
      goes
      to
      mass
      °
     
     
      every
      Sunday
      yet
      the
      message
      is
      not
      appreciated
      wake
     
     
      Up
      soon
      or
      you
      may
      be
      dead
      climb
      to
      the
      top
      man,
      I
     
     
      ‘wouldn’t
      miss
      it
      for
      the
      world
     
    
   
   
    
     
      c
      hris
      McCarron
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Sundays!
     
    
   
   
    
     
      lemcries
      ofd
      make
      1toom
      for
      new
     
     
      Bydreams
      floating
      through
      the
      air
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Reality
      distorts
      perception
     
    

    
     
      as
      Aquarian
      tears
      flood
      memories
     
     
      Of
      you
      my
      Moon
      Cheld
     
    

    
     
      4n
      this
      the
      ekeventh
      hour
     
     
      vibration
      patterns
      of
      need
     
    

    
     
      for
      security
      intercepted
     
    

    
     
      Lunar
      pulls
      dinect
     
    

    
     
      emotion
      hiding
      behind
     
    

    
     
      the
      sixth
      and
      eigth
      signs
     
    

    
     
      Of
      spirituality
      crying
     
    

    
     
      beneath
      your
      protective
      shell
     
     
      Cautions
      as
      safety
      and
      security
     
     
      Lrke
      falling
      stars
     
    

    
     
      old
      photographs
      disintiqnrate
      in
     
     
      to
      darkness
      within
      darkness
     
     
      without
      trust
      the
      night
      figures
     
     
      Of
      feminity
      rule
     
    

    
     
      your
      memory
      houses
     
     
      mother-Love's
      ain
      penetrates
      water
     
     
      churns
      and
      stirs
      and
      disappears
     
     
      Leaving
      you
      gentle
      Leader
     
    

    
     
      fo
      find
      your
      own
      way
     
    

    
     
      backwards
      home.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      ves
      of
      CBC
      drone
      in
      the
      background
      casually
     
    
   
   
    
     
      mnnect
      themselves
      to
      the
      world
      outside
     
    
   
   
    
     
      M
      dtagongly
      wings
      humming
      in
      the
      haze
      Of
      summer's
      Laziness
     
    
   
   
    
     
      meads
      itsels
      over
      the
      garden
      that
      needs
     
    
   
   
    
     
      tering
      but
      not
      today.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      BoUriirg
      cach
      steamy
      fap
      of
      cokioe
      amid
      the
      smctls
     
    
   
   
    
     
      _bacon
      fat
      and
      greasy
      eggs
     
    
   
   
    
     
      voices
      drone
      on
      through
      the
      piles
      Of
      m@S4S
      Cverywhere
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Mugs
      its
      shoulders
      in
      silence
     
     
      Wandering
      any
      wish
      to
      be
      cleaned
     
    
   
   
    
     
      11
      get
      and
      stretch
      pushing
      aside
      deadlines
     
     
      mit
      exrst
      in
      the
      newspaper
      whose
      unrudéled
      pages
      sit
      idly
      bu
     
    
   
   
    
     
      a
      by
      the
      time
      I
      reach
      out
      for
      them
     
     
      ey
      are
      gone
      through
      the
      open
      window
     
     
      me
      that
      sucks
      them
      out
      into
      ain
     
    

    
     
      ht
      xememberances
      of
      yesterdays.