The bongo drums of his thought carrom across the cosmos,
revenanting across the dawn with nodules of coltan from beyond.
A clear channel for reading the universe:
"When you come to a fork in the road, take it."
"Thank you for making this day necessary."
"It's déjà vu all over again."
"You can observe a lot by watching."
“Ninety percent of the game is half mental.”
“Pair up in threes.”

The smell of a quantum of disconnect,
the taste of the magenta of non-sequitur,
the  sight of logic colliding with chaos,
the touch of an insightful short-circuit,
the music of senseless syntax that says it all.

Coinciluckily, the saving grace: "I really didn't say everything I said."
"Always go to other people's funerals; otherwise they won't go to yours."
Who else would say, “You’ve got to be very careful if you don’t know where you are going, because you might not get there.”
Que sera, sera - "It ain't over till it's over."

Before the sun, before the birds--
The porch calls. The raw spring earth.
Reflection time.

A jogger's headlight dances down the street.
He doesn't nod, I don't wave.
Solitude.

There are books that teach, that we revere.
There are poems that we remember because they are true.
But there are only a few movies that show us how to live.

Just as the Don prepared Michael for his life, his words guide us as well:

"Don't raise your voice- Improve your argument."
"Never hate your enemies, it affects your judgment.
"Great men are not born great, they grow great."
"A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man."
"Accidents don't happen to people who take accidents as a personal insult."
"Time erodes gratitude more quickly than it does beauty."
"Never let anyone know what you are thinking."
"Forgive. Forget. Life is full of misfortunes."
And if that fails:
"Revenge is a dish that tastes best cold."

And when life serves us lemons, Clemenza offered us this:
"Leave the gun, take the cannoli."

In the almost musty basement, with the TV playing,
Sharon and I were on the sofa making out.
Urgent kisses, clothes a-jumble, smooth bare skin.
And Walter Cronkite broke in:
"President Kennedy has been shot….”
Shocked, we turned away and watched the world convulse.

We drifted apart,
each to ourselves, changed.

But in the autumn of my life, sometimes at night,
I still think of  
that blustery autumn day in Ioway.

i am that Fly--
the one that Crawled across the sheet--
her last sound and Sight
and i want You to know--
its not my fault, she Would have died-- Anyway

We flies get a bad rap--
we carry Germs- never met one myself--
Across food i tippy-toe-- i only take One bite-
from that little Bite--
she would not -- could not die

But let me set the record Straight--when
she finally went still-- was i Glad--
one less Swatting and shooing-- but
its not my Fault, she would have died-- anyway.

Dreams curl away,
Eyes blink open, toes wiggle.
It's morning, ready or not.

Honest distortions emerging from the distance of time.
Thoughts on poor decisions and worse outcomes.
The thin comfort of fading memories.
Every now and then.