Happy Fourth, y'all!

Solitude,of a time past...

Sitting, still soul, in Dreamland, beholding my own body,

realizing it really is my fucking body.

Or not so fucking, but mine nonetheless.

On the top, hot step of a dark-stoned mausoleum I perch.

Ran 5 miles.  So what?  I do it all the time.

Love and relationship fantasies find play in my mind. Amuse me.  Move on.

There’s that one about being a Clyde to her Bonnie.   But I am so much more a man than Clyde ever was and I have yet much the better part of myself to be.  How silly a notion for me to so imagine me—though I can see her as Bonnie still.

And there’s another who’s the carnate core of copious romantic yearnings and the prompt of my most passionate poetic confessions.    It’s all about the poetry.   Here’s hope that the verse, at least, endures.

Alone, free, and radical, I find it’s now time for the Sun to set.  Orange rays, long shadows are cast.  Birds hush.  The night prepares to awaken.  Home, in the cemetary, at last.

Sometimes a glance back instucts the future.  I needed that.