Personal. Me, I gotta assume you are.
aware I live with grandchildren,
the old fashioned way oldness is taken care of
as it occurs to me.
It gives me an edge on others.
Reader, dear
if you know my work, your price was
dear indeed, as you know experience
keeps a dear school,
but such as I learned in no other.
It was free.
Now that I recall all the details with AI supplying
victual literal mods on my new wine memory
spigot
spigot, this was invented, faucets we
called 'm, then this old man,
white hair,
a hoary head, they call it, up north,
where there ain't no mo'
morning dew, but there is frost, beautiful crystals
sifting unseeable beauty forms in light,
during the night
empowered by the cold,
this frozen beauty cartoons cannot convey,
though if you sing it like a child,
dancing with yourself in the mirror,
on grandma's closet
old men may only imagine the dance, or see it,
that once
that child's unblemished wish to sing
and dance,
but not in snow. No, only here now.
She sees me see her in the mirror.
Touch to verity others remain... novels are deep pits, if you know the experience
