The trumpeter visits.
You get to start over
is what it is. Enough
of that for now. Time
to pet a cat. Time to
pick at the underneath.
At or inside mouth. Be-
tween two teeth, silly!
Where we are is starting,
give or take a month.
Forget the month and just
give or take. Which is to
forget and which is forgive
is useless at this point. It’s
all honkytonk, anyway.
So we find a place at seven
on the seventh (wasn’t it on
7th Street?). After which
all birthdays stunk, one
right after the other. I
forget who climbed what
in order to ascertain that.
But I know I played the
get-up song at the funeral:
Reveille (in the morning).
Which pays enough for a
vocation at a rather large
National Park while an
excellent typist plays
tribute to Taps all night.
