When I wake in the morning to find my lonely sometimes it is hiding,
I put on my hunting clothes which were tailer made special just for such a hunt
with pockets in the all the right places
and stitches that save nine or sevens, I do not always remember, I am getting so old I can forget what what I got up to do before I get there but never lose your dreams or not have hope,
but too often, in younger days being much older than I am now, I could not figure out right or wrong, left or right, no ability to discriminate,
I know in the photograph it seems clearly expressed but in actual life I cannot see these differences in time…
I used to look for help, any wear I could find it but empty rooms don’t always get filled,
At least there the Alameda Creek, its near my house and I try to do four miles away, for at least six days I get to podcast The Archers, Freddie was just sentenced to one year for selling drugs . . . some run . . .
and I listen to Bloomberg Surveillance , but often the math, the Greek letters , the dots, and the meta miniphors, are more than I think . . . some walk . .
for me its just the lines, the colors, the textures, the general scheme of things
But never where I am hiding, perhaps I am lost never to be found but I am not wearing any clothes when I am searching to find myself, maybe I was never even lost.
(apologies to Patrick Sky)