Someday  will be cold, dead and stiff as my joints dry and stick.
Underground is nowhere to rest, burning up leaves your bones a mess.
Ocean current, out to sea, That is just not me.
Preserved in ***** for all to see? Maybe you but not for thee.
John Wayne is frozen for years to come,when he thaws, his life still done.   Decaying for years in all these ways,  we all forget we have our day.

I think the interview went well he said
I lost my keys though, where are they?
Another night with my legs curled to my arms.
Canadian whiskey is good

I don't remember sleeping but I remember you.
I never forgot breathing but I forgot where you were,
I boldly eased outside, obvious to watching eyes.
I made fur coats for pillows and cried.

I just keep falling in love with her all the time. The air seems new like in an early may evening. That feeling you get of comfort and refreshment of breathing in deep and almost tasting it. An old porch door swinging open over beaten and worn down boards, comfort and clarity of a familiar place and time. So how should I specify my love in words? Impossible, words are just that, words. My intention is not to tell her but show her. My intention is to love her not own her, my intention is to kiss her not hurt her, my intention is to need her not incarcerate her, my intention is to whisper all these lovely things into her ear. I could certainly be drunk in emotion, I could certainly be wrong in my trust of her, but what is love with out emotion, what is love without trust, what am I without her? I am myself, a slightly out of step odd man with great aspirations, but what I am with her is complete. The night of great design, the day of accomplishment, the sleep of insomniacs, the lunch of a begger, the time of summer in the warm maine coast.

I was walking through the night, it cleared around me, darkness were clouds. I stepped up to cobblestone and dreamt a dream of sea and salt. I dreamt a dream of sea and salt.

half drunkard and awkward and weight I have felt,
the last of it all I am sure not been dealt,
the ocean was singing, the sky was amazed,
the bottle I drank from sped up my decay.

To lions and birds, to sheep struck in herds,
the balling of children seems to still go unheard.
Though resting our heads while our minds run and hide,
to beautiful women my eyes still abide,
abide and forgiven by time

The if is an uncertain description of what may be not what already is. Woodshine here alone although cars are full. Taking medications to keep  sanity because they told me I was insane but then I really did go insane. Woodshine through windows and doors all the nights.  Never a word that rhymes in time describing a delerious encounter with the moon. No great line here. Woodshine at darkness of day  through crisp fall cool air. Im no longer crazy or maybe not aware of what really is. Woodshined all through the house and even in the night.