Sheesh! After that screed, I'll include a poem. Although it isn't about puppydogs and lovely meadows, I hope it will ameliorate the previous entry a bit!

Have a good Saturday. We humans will make it through this world alright, I reckon.



like an unused organ

(a spleen?) removed years ago

while I slept,

every so often I reach back to mop the sweat

and feel the scar still tender,

every so often,

I scratch and pull my hand back

red with blood,

and when it bleeds, I seldom remember why

or when or how

that part was removed

and, really, was it removed?

perhaps it was worth it.

so many ghosts follow me,

chill breezes on dark summer nights-

like out of place insects

in the middle of winter.

how do I share the new and now with these mists from my past?

how can they join to marry

my lost and disjointed

members?

calling my forgotten parts back

to a place far away and inaccessible

(only ethereally recalled

like the colors in an autumn sunset

in the deep of January's still night)

the paint is brushed on and on

layer after layer, shade after color

and hue-

strained descriptions of that which is covered

remain to remember the gazes of those

of those and that which has passed.