Dear Friends,
In the wake of casual creativity
Lies a bobbing log of a man.
Swells from faster engines
Push him along, along
And the river that feeds the pond
Marches forever to a dissident beat.
A pond is not a lake, is not a river, is not a sea.
It’s smaller than most bodies of water,
But big enough to drown within.
Casual men never sink.
Casual men only leak.
Casual men twist and turn
To show their flexibility.
Are you flexible, too?
Are you feasible? Disease-able?
In the wake of intermittent cruelty
Lies a sobbing blob of a man.
His telling of tales
Of failures and fables and twisted guitar cables
Feeds the bitter jealousies
And staggered retreats.
Feets don’t fail me now.
Feets don’t be frail.
Don’t stop by a sale.
Don’t smell a tall tale.
Just when you get ready to bail, you ask:
Are you flexible, too?
Are you incorrigible, boo?
Do you laugh when you should cry?
Do you cry when you should try
Something else. Something better.
Something next level
So turn up the treble.
Devil.
In the wake of another disaster,
You are covered with your own brand of plaster.
Faster and faster
You run.
But we’ve only just begun.
Oh, Karen. Are you lip-syncing again?
*****
See you tomorrow.
She was (and still is) so freaking cute.
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