Ah, that dreaded dog-eared page
on this, the day of my footballs game.
Beefheart would have put it best,
but I certainly can’t hold it against him,
poor chap.
Maybe now I can come back from
under his shadow. I think he’d like that
very much.
I never got the chance to thank him
or say bye (good or otherwise), but
as I reconnect to the planet at large
he somehow knows.
Maybe he’s commanding his love infantry,
and all I need is to follow the leader.
It feels derivative, but screw it.
WHARVED 