Wake in the mourn to find your lonely

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)