a starving man’s portion poor

Why so tired?

It isn’t the usual depression in which I’m mired.

I see progress in my BG and diet

I’m super diligent with yoga, PT

Would medications help me quiet?

Languages on videos are even better than TV.

I’m getting leaner, piano is improving a little, I’m prolific with poems

Getting pleasant social interactions from some people.

True the minimal intimacy with Beth though a drop more

is a starving man’s portion poor.

I check off boxes each day and have fun with these items of play.

I just am exhausted and want to stay in bed a good part of the day.

The big tense, the poem

Present, past, conjunctive?

Write a clause subjunctive?

Under the big tents after the crowds have gone home or gone to roam other pastures of pleasure came a camel with a will like iron, he stayed away from all the sexy female camels he wanted to hump. Mindful, not wanting to be like president dumpf.

On the long road, dreaming of rye, instead stopped for pie being served sweetly a cup of coffee or tea, she asked him, “Why, honey, one hump or two” then slyly, “perhaps three?”

Jumping over hill and Dale Carnegie’s courses he learned to improve his odds gambling on horses. Without taking courses, he played the bourses, upped his ante become the man he dreamed of, hugging her tan shoulders then fondling the folds of her flagrantly false lace panties. In shantytowns, bidonvilles, bassifondi, barrios bajos, Elendsviertel

life still thrives. It hasn’t gone to hell, just because the roof once fell.

True! In these humble places as well as at richer track races, pleasure mundane came with the same frequency and lack of decency.

Senseless with fatigue

In the bigger league, under tents nearby Seahawks squawk about their long flight from Norfolk.  After folks have gone crowding home or gone to crowing if they are so prone and knowing, birds, camels, goats and men find much in common with the morning wren roaming building wills of iron in every village, neighbored and town. 

From the sound of men to the sounds of hounds on grassy mounds in the early hours predawn found there

Spawns intimate self-knowledge not gained in college. This universality gains no gown, is of infinite renown from wharf to far uptown.

Knowing thy self, for better than whatever

Off the bookshelf

Gets the big tents going

In flights of fancy

Just ask Nicole and Nancy

Ned and nearly anyone who’s gotten ahead.

They ceased squawking about what other folks have done focusing on the one thing which gave their life meaning, different in every case

but similar in essence for all of the human race.

No selfies needed if this quieting is herded, the big tense becoming manageably small. Tall order it was no longer now over the imagined solid rock stall. It cracks as Leonard said letting in the light for day especially endless night painful, sleepless, uptight, alone a groan, a morning moan. In Moab, in the Middle Eastern Iron Age, as in all ages from Bronze to Golden we are beholden to at least one sage who courageously on a stage declared that falling fast at last we passed a milestone, a border wall we thought could not be crossed at all.

Francs and Beans

A sight of bun can be fun under a young woman’s plum hat more appealing than dun colored donkey or monkey brain spraining, straining in explaining my retaining healthier reframing naming

A rice bun, a bun of hair if you dare go there it might be worth a care nary a hardware emporium has not a pail for garbage a garbage pail, sail these daily effluvia of thoughtful Truvia preferring fruit trivia if you will will still have need of that after experiencing what was under the plum hat of a woman that is young too young for me you see I’m not under age, far from it quit the avoidance, Lance in French is to throw now I strive to thrive in my busy bee hive of a mind in parts under Asunda’s teaching I am reaching sans beseeching what’s already there underneath under by ground I found buried inside what everyone hides from the terrifying realization of our mortality and how we oft waste the day with foul or foolish play under the impression that impressionist painters had fun at their easels but not so much when they tried to exhibit at the elite Salon it would have been more than fun perhaps even lucrative yielding a bundle of francs, a bundle of buns- more likely baguettes lest we forget they were in Paris where they did not get paid - did they get laid? Well they sold for beans. A bean or three is what might have been sighted to have been on their dinner plate of late. Is that why they were leaner, leaning keenly into their subject? You object? Am I a descendant of Quixote... are all writers after Cervantes forever in his debt? A debtors’ prison gave him a frisson of inspiration. A man with one hand, ransomed from slavery, showing infinite bravery with always an ironic eye and turn of phrase keeps his readers in a delightful maze of fantasy, madness, love of humanity and puts Christianity’s better ideals into practice in the good heart of La Mancha’s Man and squire

 including the ever chaste desire

 for Dulcinea a play a day a week for six ducats each or some other trifling sum brought him poverty, misery yet wisdom and good humor grew.

The sight of buns can be fun under a young woman’s plum skirt

A wet T shirt too

bundled in so you can see through.

Silky beautiful blonde braided beneath braided straw summer hat hair if you dare go there it might be worth a care sighting perfect women in stores, on the streets over there- really everywhere out of the corner of your eye. Try not to stare if you care about getting a dismissive sour puss look to let you ever so gently off the hook. What about other people’s feelings? You hedonist hog. Be no longer bogged: Get off your log, off your sordid thrown own up to being past fully grown. Groan!

I’d rather grin at myself than win something I don’t want or need. An ok creed: to have food for thought you need a seed.

With seeds I am done:

Fun with buns under the sheets

Kissing her glorious perfectly shaped and tanned-lined teats.

What treats

For a moment of joy we are each other’s toy

T shirts shared after love with caring care too

For a moment, for a second bundled in with life’s misery is clarity, alacrity so you can see through the miasma it is truly

Silky beautiful blonde braided beneath braided straw hot summer hat hair if you dare go there it might be worth a care sighting perfect women in houses of horrific tours, on the street sightings everywhere. An old man’s lust, in his unceasing quest for butt and bust can make him go bust unless his strengthening core helps him score. Scoring a film for more than Francs and Beans, buns, puns and pummeled plums. Beca chum not a cheesy chump. Be a Chinese champ, an american man, a citizen of the working world. Let the seriousness of purpose be easily disgusted with an ounce of  healthier reframing fun.

He sides with Putin

While his family is lootin’. 

Green shoots: voting districts in Ohio were found to be illegal.

Everyone knew this but until now the GOP’s grip was lethal.

His party is laughing off it’s sides with hootin’, hollerin’ and general bon jovie.

He is free to shoot in open season for treason at the top our Justice Department can not stop of course it’s head is in bed with he who

is lootin’, while our air, water and lands are fouled, our power grids made increasingly vulnerable so his bo in the Kremlin can bring us down until maybe there’s a hope a tide we’ve had enough of this duplicitous ride. No longer hide.

Get out the vote.

Get into the fray today with honor and obey the law. Not a unitary president running amok more and Moore’s Law improves things digital. Will our fellow citizens awaken and no longer be taken for a ride down the abysmal side of a mountain top which has been removed the chemicals running into rivers from which-slivers turning to silver and gold- rich old  GOPs don’t drink. Yes bring back coal, more oil and gas. Block out the sun while letting in cancer causing rays. By the way buy a few more guns. Just for fun store them near toddlers and depressed, angry teens who mean harm in schools and bear arms near farms.

Those will be the days the GOP craves.

In the air he helps put more soot in

Praying to the god he anointed in Putin

As Chaney made the ISIS king from a nobody into a thing of terror and power

Scootin’ our friendly skies with daily dosages of lies

They ended the rule to have balanced news reporting

It was then with our country Ailing from Roger and co. Though that was when they started using the propaganda line “Fair and Balanced Reporting”

Was there anything they were not distorting?

He doesn’t care if Russia takes over as long as he’s gotten his four leaf gold plated clover. Maybe he’d even prefer it if the Ruskies bring down our grid, hid the controls to our traffic and water supply and more Americans die.

Money, more property and a hold on his golden litigious load is a boon he’ll peddle to the most vulnerable with cheers hootin

While his foxy family and friends are root toot lootin’.

Twisted in a chocolate pretzel

Three glasses of rose

Ok

Two chocolate pretzels

Zealously devoured within the hour

Of arrival at the family function.

No matter how much unction I muster

Custard and chocolate, booze and food

In the mood to be social with awareness of self esteem

Burning off steam beforehand

Can the band holding me back be breached and crossed?

At a loss when brother-in-law tells me of his profits swell

Dividends and with interest rapt

Trying to feel my feet and not an envious heart attack meet.

Not black moods or even dark gray,

Despite my nervous insecurity have an enjoyable time with these family days more than in years past when depressed I would get

Letting every little thing bring torturous bling

Around my neck, my being me was a thing of shame

Now partially tamed I am less and less inflamed.

Rose, pretzels eagerly devoured within the hour

Function to keep me out of deep-seated self sour defeat

I muster more awareness, ever less condemnation and judgement

Fudge, mint chocolate chip ice cream is better than booze

Whose message is clear

Awareness grows, pain is diffused.

To this I can get used.

what I miss

Alacrity, speed, happy speed indeed

Feed not my ego that’s my creed.

without a lack of alacrity I’m smack in the middle of a self-transformation not that anyone in.

Cheerfulness, readiness, promptness, willingness

I’m blessed with all the above including a hug and kiss

from my wife. I’m greedy wanting more of what I miss.

Midnight snacks past Seven, but not eleven

1.     Midnight snacks

2.     an issue

3.     Genau

4.     Yeah right.

5.     Jigs, jags and zigs

6.     a little thrill

7.     Miller Lite

1.              Midnight snacks

Are facts I cannot deny

I decry there is not just one French fry.

Friday I’ll try to justify why

I would lie.

High or deep down the side then turn right,

Listen to the morning wren, when I should be asleep

In the morn before dawn I yawn then forlorn, turn out of a heap not with Heather in a feather bed, dead to the world then again slowly, slowly awakening in another direction to the confection of choice to remove my blahs

This of course is chocolate chip Hägen Däz.

*****

2.              an issue

Self control is an issue for me.

Am I asking too much of myself?

To be free of chocolate sprees

First recognize the degrees of lies I perpetuate

No one is perfect, not even Kate or Katie or Maria who

Eats less than a bird

These words are true.

Have a sense of humor with the good humor truck

Then with any luck I’ll find a nice looking woman to

Finally...

*****

3.              Genau

Why so many intrusive murderous thoughts?

I ought to be beyond that by now.

How to be more calm, quiet, loving with all Brüder, Schwestern, Männer und Frauen! Genau how is it then - I don’t quite buy it.

Which part? I am fit and bit by bit

I refine addressing issue after issue each layer of psychological tissue

Is which to dine more on internal folk lore.

****

4.              Yeah right.

Everyone has anger.

To many even rage is no stranger in home or airplane hanger.

I keep it at bay

Locked away sometimes calming with yoga, or exercise, writing or meditative playboy I want to be yet not free as I admit with a bit, a tinge or regret is the occasional chocolate binge.

Cringe not.

It could be much worse.

After all, I am continuously becoming stronger, more flexible and content.

What I meant is on weekdays when I’m super busy

Not on weekends when you often find me in bed napping, mouth motoring Morse collapsing comatose under weights of historical fate’s repetition compulsion. A little revulsion just a tad may free me from mom and dad’s bad stuff keeping their good fluff n nutter off the cuff another brother big and sometimes small can all happily fill out my functionally functional family internal in this journal poem and in other life situations melting away earlier degradations

I bury myself less and always arise. So why’s it a surprise?

The question is more, I’m sure: I’m tired of struggling just to be for a day, a moment to be free of my self torture.

I’m ok as is.

Yeah right.

That’s why I binge especially at night.

*****

5.              jigs, jags and zigs

I’m ok, you’re ok

Wow!

Shame, remorse, embarrassment and guilt combined with feeling we have a choice is now clear that even fear is an important tool. These negative states when recognized as cues, form an early warning system. For them that know and Clem that has toes and ties to moderation in foods like French fries can try to choose a smoother path aware of rocks and crags being interested not overly frightened by jigs, jags, zigs and seemingly backward moving regressive zags.

****

6.              a little thrill

So what changed moving me from fear, half recognized rage, fear of my anger and mini-binging languid languor?

My curiosity weakly piqued, gently pin pricked a lick of itch to know. Annoyed ever so teasingly with a knowing know tongue in cheek head to toe above below feeling the status quo won’t bestow enough to fill the bill. It gives me the will and more than a little thrill to still be able to grow.

****

7.              Miller Lite

The anger exists, perpetuating its inner fists in grist and grief for the miller’s will simply because of the lie that despite all I do to try I can not ply want I want out of anything as my self fulfilling prophecy makes it all go awry.

I see clearly my glass not half but almost completely full.

Am I the type that needs the hype to motivate my inner light?

Other ways to get on with my days, less painful more focused and productive, less obsessive more efficient, sounds about right?

Now pass that Miller Lite.

dig, dig… quick!

Do I want to do anything with my poems?

Leaving home with tome under arm,

Would I do myself harm?

What need have I to try my head, hand and ego at something alarming?

Could it be charming.

Is that what I need?

Godspeed.

A gospel creed

Heed the Buddhists plead for world peace

In Nice at least there’s a modicum of monks who chant not hum.

I expect one day perhaps soon

I’ll tire from writing these rhyming lines

Then something else will bloom.

That doesn’t answer the question of whether to further engage the world. 

I could find other hobbies to connect

I expect. Still there is desire to excel, show off, make money. Not needed and a sure path to stay in my personal hell.

What befell me happens to others.

I’ve been luckier than most.

So why boast?

Insufficient self-love?

Rise above needing treatment kid glove.

I enjoy my process and every day

has hours which are productive, engaging…

so… OK.

But what does that mean?

Oh you’re looking for answers?

Tween this and that

We’ll avoid a spat.

Here’s a shovel and pick.

For answers young slick,

Go dig, dig some more, then dig and dig real deep and digging get a real gig… do it real quick!

Sleepless in 14 E

She awakens to a cup of tea.

A healthier, happier Beth you see

Will soon be when she gets free

Of her hay-day job then in the morning she’ll be able

At the breakfast table

To have a conversation enabled

By sleep deep and restful

Beth will start her day zestful.

Cracked Vase of Artesia

Tired again. Do I have amnesia?

Too much ink and pen?

I rest my mental state gently on pillow not plate.

Late yesterday I learned with a delighted silent squeak

to apply to pedagogical technique

Of just back of the edge to psychological training to tolerate distress.

Nicely helpful in getting out of my mess.

Since the past in a sense lives in synapses I can be compassionate with these cracks in my brain’s lapses.

Cracked vase of Artesia

Cracked pot from the alley flea market lot with synapses to spare

They dare remain but shallower, less frightening pitfalls.

Fewer pratfalls

Taller, project better introjects.

In effect

It occurred spontaneously, this feeling of compassion and hope.

Nope it’s not comparison or comparing.

It’s daring to feel sad for my pained self and then gently, mindfully, curiously and with a drop  and two dollops of confidence get off the fence, off the shelf and back into the mainstream with ever greater health, vigorously streamlined participating, being of help in life’s vast wealth of feeling, kneeling at the secular alter of yoga.

Was this known to Greeks in the day wearing togas?

Today is sunny, beautiful.

Putting it another way:

Today is blue cloud blue, sunny orange, golden yellow-white hot, green tree shade…

I have everything.

Except love and work.

Ok.

Don’t be a jerk.

Dumbfounding fox hole

Uptight angry barely aware.

Consider the cover of Time

It’s a crime the way they distort the truth.

Fox should climb into a hole forsooth lose your biting fox tooth!

I had forgotten it is a right-wing thing, a rag dressed up for middle class consumption with gumption to spare. That is, it is full of hot air.

The idea that dumpf the garbage loser has gotten off scot free is to me appalling.

To his base enthralling it stinks to low hell.

Below the indecency of hypocrisy criticism of illegal aliens in light of his having built his empire on their backs. His attacks on Biden given dumpf’s recidivist sexual harassment is dumbfounding.  Foxy! An election they stole.

Liana Laughs Lightly

I make Liana laugh.

So do others including her staff.

You’d have to be daft to not know why.

It’s her cheerful disposition

Which helps in life’s transitions.

I supply her bar with lunch money several times a week

There I seek a pleasant home away from home where I tweak

My poems and do a little work.

Not heavy lifting require Herculean strength

Just a decent brain and a phone connected at length

To the Web. I need to ask Jeb

 for Kenn’s WiFi code

Since I spend as much time there as in my abode.

Liana is the owner from Australia

On the way in or out she’ll hail ya.

Liana was an industrial chemist till she felt

The call for food and drink

to bring her profits not red ink.

I think it must have been more

that brought her here to our shores.

Seven years ago: in that time she and her husband enjoyed a few beers at their home in Monticello where they go to beat the heat and take a load off of their poor standing feet. Liana greets all who visit her bar whether they are from the neighborhood or from the very, very Far East. Either way her sore foot needs some care

but she doesn’t have the time to spare

on her sole down under. It would be neat

if she attends to her feet before they run off and tweet about their aching backbreaking.

All they probably need is a little rest in epsom warm to be taking.

Maybe an insole or two, wouldn’t make her insolvent to invent a way to vent the dilemma of her bent out of shape foot. She could foot the bill

standing on one foot on a steep hill.

I hope I made Liana laugh.

In her restaurant there’s never a draft except of refreshingly cold beer.

We eat here to spear the pears in her superb salad with formaggio erborinato

Not oh so blue as Stilton or Roquefort but more of the right kind of blue than azzurro of that you can be sure oh.

Several times a week

A salad not of leeks but sprouts and ‘shrooms from which sprouts cashews and pears with a savory dressing

Truly a Quotidian blessing

this

pleasant home away from home

is a place from which you might roam but sure to return for their chili or soup

either alone or in a large group.

Without her jean jacket there is a lack et-cetera unless you try her nachos.

Then we’ll all feel like head honchos.

Liana laughs lightly nightly and during the day. When not busy you know she’s working somehow anyway while lightly laughing and staffing her kitchen mostly with men at Kenn’s which lends Liana a light laugh between Italian and Spanische because she’s found her niche leaning laughingly, Liana laughs lightly.

Beth’s hearts are sweet

Have a great day.

With her words I do play

Love you 😍 too

Our love’s a treat and here to stay.

Not Michael Phelps

Bit by bit

I get fitter

I get fit

Enough to get grittier

In seeing I did my best which was not good enough- sometimes-

I survey the land I survived

With ever more drive and compassion

I fashion a life better.

Despite my best efforts to help and be good

I was a misunderstood shit

I see that’s it!

Clearly now

No matter how

truly I was battered and abused

I used my skills poorly

Was chronically inappropriately prepared

Yet dared to go my own way yielding pluses and minuses and occasionally clogged sinuses.

Cold comfort.

The fact that I worked so hard

From Juilliard to present day has had little effect on my inability

To read and work with others

While brothers and sisters of every color, druthers, shape and size let me twist and capsize on the vine a noose made of my own paranoia self-choking.

Are you joking?

I have a great life.

A wife, a son, a home, improving health

Lots of hobbies, a drop of wealth, more importantly moments of clarity, calm refuge from  mental maelstrom.

So common you could get it on the rack at Nordstrom.

Cognitive distortions be done.

Get on with my day.

Do what needs to be addressed, be mindful.

Let the hindsight-full be informative

Move forward awakened formative

Dread and drear leave in parking lot rear.

Steer clear of cliffs in Maine.

Take my daily wolf-bane.

Join the human race.

Face fears.

That dot of rot no worse than for many hot and bothered less and better than some.

Comparisons don’t help. Come,

Stop shelling out whelping cries but

don’t deny my call for help.

These are not boy yelling wolf type lies.

Meet it internally not on Yelp.

No need to be a Michael Phelps.

Just get into the swim of things.

It rings true. Before it’s too late.

Only hate accrues

if you’re too scared to get bored or booed.

Who’d want perfection in a box locked?

Dock my pay, pay your dues.

Is it my turn? Do I get to choose?

I am a lucky man.

I can each day, each moment pull myself up out of my self-perpetuating garbage can.

Good idea, reasonably reasonable for me as well as for Dan.

Yes, a reasonable, not just seasonal plan.

Before Noon

So depressed, I’ve been down this road a score or more times before... noon.

Up and down, in and out, an antidepressant rollercoaster.

The waitress was friendlier when I ordered a beer then told her I am trying to learn Italian - in Italian.

A battalion of tricks all boil down to relating to people.

Smiling in a relating way, ask about their day.

Listen carefully without getting uptight for that is where I remember nothing but my own plight.

With this insight,

I have less urge or need to hide by taking flight.

The stutterer singing

Poetry for me is like the stutterer singing.

So, to answer your question, I’ll be bringing my humble hints from Milton, Woody Allen

and my pal in

Dr. Seuss,

though a little more abstruse.

If I were to divorce, I’d be of course at a careening, carelessly dreaming angry at myself voiceless, incoherent loss.

My history, my underpinnings

Going into extra innings, ringing the dinner bell…

I’d be as lonely as Hell.

Lonelier, frequently at bars, dating low life stars

afraid I’d made the biggest mistake I couldn’t take back.

I’d study and exercise more to ensure I don’t get a heart attack from the flak of ensuing attacks.

Guilty too that I blew it, didn’t change, learn to improve to get my marriage into a better grooving, graceful, playful, loving groove.

It would have behooved me to have behaved better to the letter.

In the front, on the sides and to the rear-

view mirror it’s not clear how to steer clear of all that I see which is near is fearful,

tearful fear.

So if poetry is like the stutterer singing, bring back a little of this art

It will help my life to reboot and up again start.

A Keg or Two

Could I express myself in music as freely as in words?

A little Bird of Jazz or pop, Latin maybe even Be-Bop?

Sing a song with a plain old refrain? Learn guitar?

Stop!

Hop on.

Hip hop off.

Cough up the big bucks for

Lamar’s Duckworth.

Focused folks don’t give ten fucking fucks.

Go to bed

Give in to depression

Who cares?

Death will close in soon enough.

Is there anything that would wake me up?

Helping Dan.

Helping Beth. But she wants no help.

A reservation on yelp. Nah she’ll do even that herself.

I feel she’s closed, needs me for next to nothing: make the bed, clean the kitchen.

Maybe she needs a maid instead of a husband.

Maybe she’ll land a post retirement gig with a famous band.

She says I have no true feeling.

Many have said the same.

She said maybe I’d be a number two at work. But never a number one. Shut up shit and piss.

Then more grist!

I was pissed when she didn’t trust me to buy eggs.

In my mind, I’m a man of my word and a few kegs.

Probably not as consistently as I think.

That’s why I drink a keg or a few.

Monica

Did Ponce de León find the fountain of youth in his exploration of Florida?

Maybe that’s why so many older Floridians can be found in the corridors -- 

of the Sunshine State.

Vitamin C grows on trees

in three varieties: lemon, lime and subprime-oh that’s real estate.

I would hate to conflate the roundness of an orange with the Krebs Cycle though it’s possible older folks get juiced up and hence more energetic.

Frenetic studies, a course to be invented by one of these older buddies, bids Buddhist truisms to sample the simple nature of positive affirmation, breathing techniques and acupressure.

Is there a difference between affirmation and placebo?

I will not age. I will not die.

I will be healthy, happier and tell no lies.

An orange or lemon a day I will try here, cutting down on beer.

Just don’t be lying in the sunny sun.

It won’t aid your longevity.

It won’t be fun to be overly baked decried Seymour Sy.

In fact some have become French fried.

Also known as the fountain of life in classical texts, were monks those who thunk it was a cure-all not to be debunked?

Yoga has no soda fountain.

Its wisdom can be found in mountain pose, tree pose and eagle.

I’ve said this before: just ask Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

He flew to the beat of his own learning passion wings.

That’s an anti-aging fruit in fashion replacing onion rings.

The old age state has the fountain of youth.

Nicely balanced if a bit uncool save for Miami vice.

Did it cause a Cheney reaction? To satisfaction in the corridors

of the Sunshine State with wrinkles abating

through the gift of vitamin C we can all relate.

The Macrobians in ancient Africa, suggested Herodotus historically, have had hardly anything to do with Hebe who knew more than Alexander who was no greater than Ponce at finding those pristine waters.

They should all have asked Monica Watters.

Basics

Abstinence from self-indulgence is a monumental chore.

What’s more it’s a bit of a bore… snore.

Tous jours, I’d like Ice cream, double-scoops of chocolate chip mint thrill me, fattening my core.

What else is in the store?

How about beer, porn or a whore?

What a smorgasbord do I hoard!

I’m of course not going to have intercourse

With anyone but Beth till death do us part but for sex, lying side by side in an earthy plot - might it help to smoke pot?

might it be a cryptic hot spot I forgot to start that’s as far as I’ll get what I’ve got in the furious duet of dirt in death with my last breath I’ll lament my inability to learn

the basics at every turn.

Eli’s Joke

At myself I’ll poke fun at the way

The waitress looked at me funny,

a slight disdain or dislike, my nose? - it wasn’t runny, my mood, my expression of pained depression, my age, clothes... who knows?

My response?

Spill water on myself.

Better than running away, hiding under a shelf, hoping for a better day to come out and play.

Still better than spilling wetter water was what I did next:

channeling upset grudgingly gurgling into this groundlessly grounding journaling.

Fear Receding

Music left my soul.

Danny wrote something similar when he was a child.

Now I’m getting old.

He is brilliant with personality self-styled,

A wonderful, promising young man never wild child yet one who oft smiled

Milder internal weather is here.

Optimistic with receding fear.