One in the Friday morning
stuck sitting achey with pipes bubbling & back bent slightly forward
15 by 20 room with dull beauty dimly revealed by silent blue light strung up without much thought for maximum convenience and conservation of precious energy.
Old friend, still young sits left and speaks of learning from his fathers past mistakes.
Mind alive and racing tirelessly like agitated horses on an old Paris track with feet as wet as the grass in my lawn or really anyone's lawn on any given morning when dew might show it's illusive glistening face.
Only illusive due to this reasoning.
We are never awake to see the sun rise or to smell the always punctual dawn air hop out of bed and greet the day cheerfully as is so seldom seen in this ancient young city.