Why do I hear that song whenever I turn on the radio?
When the lines are not meant to straigten out. they will flyaway
chalking out non-linear paths for my memory-ways.
collide with one another producing sparks of anarchic love.
They will travel in
crooked lanes of the universe that converge and diverge.
They will turn up in the
corners of my closet
crowd my life
like a tear drop on the
contours of my face.