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5 November 2022

weathered

 poor boy plays his flute       to a herd of goats     grazing in the dunes       sunny side up      what’s that the symbol of?       the grass is always greener       on my side of the dream         the tapping on my window pane     sets another scene      it’s heavy weather       the sky is grey       the rain pours down       dismal as an infant’s funeral

some days I drag the low end         but it doesn’t matter    it doesn’t bother me        I won’t be writing any suicide notes     on that account        I’m not fixing to die anytime soon       I just began learning how to live        I have  circumstances to accommodate     and those can be a bitch       I can’t complain    but I will anyway

I roll out of bed        a tsunami of shit     sweeps me off my feet      and leaves me gasping on the wakeful shore      these are the heavy latitudes       and the days land hard      dark and oppressive        this is the land of ghosts  and ancient lore       the land of violence and suicidal rage     I have firewater in my veins     and fear in my heart   these last million miles  have worn me thin       one good rain could wash me down the drain       to dissolve like baby aspirin      in a pool of baby tears

I’m wedded now      to this heavy heart       to have and hold     until death we do part   I’m just a dog without a bone      still fighting a war     that ended long ago      a typhoon picked me up and shook my shadow loose      the pieces have fallen back to earth     but my light casts no warmth        and  I’m not the man I pretended to be      back in the day        before the deluge       swept me away

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