I see your face lowered in shame
You are constantly always taking the blame
You've done nothing wrong but yet filled up with guilt
You seem to be like a plant wilting away
I always grumble at the sacrifices I made
Yet you do so much and don't gain
I can see the tears in your eyes caused by my pain
And I just want you to know I'm sorry for my ways

I shone a torch into the past but the batteries kept on flattening
a quick glimpse was all I got in the fading light and to try to put it in context was beyond my reckoning . So I shone the torch into the future
and all I saw was myself in a mirror the fears of my mind lit up my present situation like fireworks going off prematurely. I threw away the torch happy to live the mysterious present darkness with the company
I stumble across daily.

I loved her
from the first moment I met her.
So sleek she was,
manufactured to perfection,
I cradled her in my arms,
invigorating me
she did.
I fingered her trigger
& she reacted violently,
spewing lead
rapidly
from my hidden place,
her suppressor-face was hot,
molten,
effective.

Hey God, scoot over a bit. I'm feeling kinda tired. Would you fluff that cloud for me?  Ah, thanks dude, much better. My head's been feeling heavy. The closer I get to the end of the road, well...makes me wonder why bother with the rest of the show. The endings are all the same.

To be honest, it hasn't been quite all it was hyped.  We start running low on that joy thing and all of a sudden it just seems so ...pointless.  I find myself wondering if my dog is going to outlive me. ****'s that about?  I've had a dozen or so dogs and this is the first I've ever worried about whether one would be sad if I checked out tomorrow. Another sad lonely old dog ain't going to be the end if the world.

Even poetry's not doing much for me. Face it, mine's fallen flat, and with the exception of a handful of golden pens on HP, it's kind of gone to hell. Oh, I don't blame eliot. That's what happens when us old ***** play around with technology that the youngins know more about. Algorithm doesn't know **** about poetry, and all I know about hash is how to smoke it. Think I'll just stay up here and rest a spell. This fluffy cloud is feeling mighty fine.

r ~ 5/23/14