- I need to write a book this summer
I tell me this every summer - i start
One in fall and another in spring then
It all winterizes - becomes a solid mass
Of bits and such - forgotten as I am lost
I am close with one - a story of a dear
Friend soon gone to a sickness he let in
While life passed him by - every weekend
The same - but he won’t say he is at his end
Instead he argues about gods and trumps and
Everything he cannot see or touch - it is all
Make believe - the stevie nicks of it all - heard
Together at the front door of our dearest anxiety
Driven friend who orders too many burgers and
Makes me laugh and makes him argue that our
Sky is indeed not blue but a prism of colours only
Now detected - what fools we are to him who is at
His end: she devotee of the all mighty god: the alpha
And the omega - me for not understanding that souls
Are never recycled they just end
Yes in the fall - perhaps, perhaps I’ll finish his story
And let him read it before he goes