After the migrating migrany storm
I wake up from a darkness,
grainy with the growls
of my own worst selves

Three days
the vile spirits held me hostage,
until I found myself in a movie
on a raft
on a calm ocean;
the grotesque, black clouds on the horizon
descending into the light,
straight out of Doré's Bible illustrations
and my old Jehovah's Witnesses friends' fantasies

- and today
James Webb is getting ready
to talk
about the beginning of the beginning,
and it's the 1443rd / 2568th and 2079th year,
and also the 12th Day of the 7th Month of the 2022nd year

I lift a cup of coffee,
again at large,
accepting my invincible vulnerability,
reasonably ok
with the long last
that can't be far off
for the likes of Bob Dylan and myself
and all the circumstances
of our habitual habitats

Let Memphis Blues ring again!

Everything is crossing paths
with itself,
and we go as we come

The Dalai Lama
and my honorary father-in-law Sigurd
turn 87,
but I still lack evidence
of a few facial expressions
as the day dawns on me

Some time after Midsummer
the birds go silent,
and the fledglings knock themselves out
against the Haushofer windows
of the farm house

NOTHING is quite tough enough!
Don't even mention SOMETHING!

I lie here,
trying to maintain brain silence

Is it lonely when nobody is there?