Tuning Spork

Half again I pour
Thoughtfully non
Green pants with cords
Resonant yon

It’s what I see
Masks and cigarettes
Pianos echo in me
Perhaps lunch a galette

The street side is wary
No one will speak
‘cept friends here in brief
My eyes keep a peek

Ringing endorsed
This pour on in
A blue top of course
Sunglasses, glance sin

Unabashed will my mouth
Lips tightly sealed
Contact, contact South
But West is the field

Meaning I’m making?
Who really knows
When resonance patterns
It grows and grows