by Phillip Lewis
In the merry month of May
they wove a house akin
to the one that’s built of dreams, but they
ripped a hole in the roof,
to let the star light in,
and they danced with the magic of Fay,
danced the whole night away.
With their eyes they said, “I do”
at twelve twenty nine,
and it turned their brains into downe.
the stars took up house inside those two,
and how their eyes did shine.
Still, with ashes, they both came down.
With ashes we’ll all fall down.
So, roll us in a blanket, bury us at dawn,
and feed the old bird when we’re gone.
Yeah, feed the old bird when we’re gone.
In his humdrum rambles, Philip Lewis analyzes people and is typically skeptical of the generalizations they make. He has ten toes, just like you, but is missing a finger.
Photography by Kenneth Godoy