Randy

A yellow lawn and a white house in summer

The blank space of an imperfect memory

A single empty room that has forgotten more than I remember

A bright day, an oppressive heat

A hundred, a thousand, a billion people

With the same idea of freedom

And the same compulsion to tell others how to live

As if anybody living really needs them

It doesn't take much to be decent to people

And even less to just not care

There is so much bleeding from hearts that only beat in anger