Albeit I am a bitter old
man.
bully, solipsist,
narcissist, no
doubt: don’t I love the
thrashing
of trees in gusts over 50
miles per
hour; early morning salmon sky.
And cold.
Trolling for Facebook
Fights, my
joy de vivre: he said, she
said:
putting IT in play—the spirit of
the Living Crisis at any
point in
time for the time being.
Crows like high wind.
Surfing sky,
ecstatic. Smoke signals
from the
caves: how we just get
along. Can
you read me now?
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