Her voice has not gone silent.

With this distance I can’t hear.

She’s yammering somewhere to someone.

About something, let’s be clear.

A story about a victim.

A heroes journey with a cause.

And an abusively bad bastard.

Who can surf above the laws.

She can speak with such conviction.

And for for sure those will be tears.

Don’t feel bad, she’s fooled the experts.

A practiced art for tired ears.

Some people think I miss her.

I never learned to be that tall.

Truth be such admiration.

For such bold impudent gall.

Rumble in the alley bout something that should have been.

Not saying there was a witness but you really should come clean.

They love a rise from fall now, just keep it trimmed and lean.

They are handing out forgiveness to the parties that come clean.

Your Daddy was offended, not being made Parade Day Queen.

Your Mama has had enough now, she is about ready to come clean.

I’m disgusted and disguised now, I am Batman on Halloween.

I just sit in brooding silence, there’s zero chance I will come clean.

“What a great idea… Do you know what this place is missing? A box of shit in the living room! Let’s get a cat.”

The sentence was death by boredom. The virus spread the earth.

Madness rained down upon them. Like some monsters giving birth.

They handed out free money. The kind that makes you soft.

And nearly jumped out their skin. When someone smiled and coughed.

Then Dylan put out an album. With a song called Murder Most Foul.

That sounds as disgusted as I feel. Like the purging of a bowel.

I’ve learned to take the blessings and take them as they come.

He is at another level, a bit too much for some.

Kafka said, ‘That he felt ashamed when he realized the world was a costume party and he showed up with his real face.’

Shame? Really Kafka…

To have such insight I would have felt such glee to have finally figured it out!

Shame for being honest seems like such a villainous stance. Shame for not joining the herd?

Incredible observation Kafka 👏

Not buying your shame though.

The toast was not burnt I swear.

The cream was fresh and chilled.

The rosè was a vintage fine.

And no goblets were broke or spilled.

Somehow I just woke grumpy.

From my king size goose down bed.

I probably owe apologies.

For something or other I said.

Sometimes there’s no reason.

For my less than kind retorts.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t love or care.

It just means I’m out of sorts.

There was sunlight in the raindrops.

No silence on the bus.

The crew they were complaining.

Thank God it wasn’t us.

The Chardonnay wasn’t chilled enough.

The trolly was a running late.

Others were lacking something.

Which was only tempting fate.

We were spared a final torment.

Because their destination came.

I was left feeling so much better.

And my silence held no shame.

The Play was light and shadows.

Made me think of death and life.

I was single in realities.

In my head she was my wife.

There’s a beauty in the seeing.

There’s a wisdom in this pain.

That I can know and leave behind.

And not look back again.

I thought the world gone crazy. Inner voice said I was wrong.

I sometimes try to listen. Sometimes I try to be that strong.

‘There’s a movement without leaders. They want what they can’t be.

They use the web and ignorance. No sense that they can see.

Some people just love danger. Like the Joker, they do yearn…

To take away the beauty, and see how the world will burn.

The mood was psychedelic.

The vibe was out of mind.

There were smiles and some nudity.

Not a road map for the blind.

The enchanted were enlightened.

The trip was great beyond.

The Guru’s all kept taking turns.

At the moaning groaning blonde.

There were feelings of forever.

You just knew it couldn’t last.

There’s a lesson to be learned I’m sure.

All just memories of the past.