my nose is cold (healthy if i were a dog!). my socks are DAMP. love is only for others… a waltz to the co op.. thought as a tight knit barricade against the world, brushing aside the rude intimacy of sensation. early morning gloam, this the late november dish water bilge light…. and verily death stalks the trees, leaves that once were all a silken shimmy, those that remain, tattered, brown, with a dry death rasp, husk of a rattle, aagggh… lies of course, the leaves are soggy and look like their made of polyester. mulch of thoughts. mulch. thought. mulch. march along the concrete. ah but song! outward looking, open, embracing, the loose woven billow of a tune. croak along ‘my old man said follow the van and don’t dilly dally on the wa-a-ay’

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