Mind is melding
Molding man to mutt.
And sea is churning
solid shut.

So stop your dancing Picallo.
Ill let you know
when it's time to go.

Defining self
seems plausible,
improbable,
illogical,
and most easily psychological.

Time is flying
as time grows older.
Riding bike
and falling over.
Time is now
and time is over.
Always looking
over shoulder.

Then, I picked my pieces back up off the ground.
Proving grounds
proved me grounded.
Each bone ringing
hollow sounding.
Man starts singing
leaping, bounding.
Ten fingers clinging,
you’ll stick around
to see man crowned.
Underneath compound
to new found pound
which is grave mound.
Then, I AM FOUND
by accident of ultrasound.