Foosed, Untied.

Short listenings of sundry guitars.
Oh, what a time you had.
Was it we? I was doing nothing
as always. You pictured the city outside
one hundred years ago,
when living on top of one another
meant something,
but inside the blank walls
did nothing, said little.

Until you close the window
softly now,
let's not wake
the downstairs baby,
close the window
to concentrate the vision
of red brick walls,
we may never -- shh,
let's not wake
the downstairs baby.