I have a black angel behind my ribs
and a blue bird in my lonely heart
I sit in the middle of the sidewalk
counting the time worn passengers

their drooping heads tell me more
than any psychology treaty in the world

“things are made of something and go to nothing”
my favorite poet once wrote
but I dare think the contrary

and this
makes me feel
as better as I could
like a black angel
with a blue bird
instead of a lonely heart