I chronicle in rhythm and rhyme,
Scribbling, jotting, imaging the times:
I dug down to Lucy,
And China's Great Wall,
Compared Viking raids with personal tirades;
Asked God questions, questioned Jeff Sessions,
And all of that where-with-all.
I've called wrong out, and written about
Our scandals, all fancy or true;
I've offered you solace,
Even opened my wallet,
And grieved when it was due.
I've been self-righteous,
And sometimes right selfless,
When parsing my love for you.
But now it should end,
I've less left to send,
And so love I bid, Adieu.

Birds sing in chorus
Early morning orchestra
Sunbird leads the band

A line cook at Denny’s (must have own pans)
Is an artist, accomplished in assemblage
Compositions of eggs (rather like Cezanne’s)
Toast, bacon, waffles for his decoupage

His gesso is the window layered in steam
Built of reflections and condensation
Hinting at the flowing Interstate stream
Beyond the No Smoking pumping station

The line cook has indeed his pans and plans -
Art, as the muse of cookery commands

I am just filling in time
Sleeping through the dark times of the day
As dreams compete with the daily mind grime

Following the human way
Eating my fill of the ritual, survival routine
Facing life in the best possible way

Loving, hating, crying when I can. Guess I’m
Following the birth to death plan
Just by filling in time

Burying is over
People make their way out
On the grave the shades of trees sleep
Outside the hustling bustling gets rhythm
The churchyard gate
Is the wall between two worlds
No one wants to get in
Burying is over
Everything is over

With such longings
With much strife
My heart mutters lies,

Take my belongings
Take my life
My soul flutters... flies!