Good Old Daze

Here I sit with pen

(oops) make that keyboard

in hand.

Trying to write

what I scarce understand.

My mind (gosh, make that computer)

A jungle of half formed plans.

I spew (heavens, make that send)

into the land.

Thoughts that have no form

like sand.

Sand?  Cool

We can make a mother board


You bet!

Give me a cat with a bird to kill.

I’ll cook his hide and pluck a quill.

I’ll bleed for ink and if the sheep are still.

I’ll get a skin to write my will.

Oh for the Good Old Daze.


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