than you are.
But I’m not
dead yet. It
took nearly 3
years of burn-
ing to face
this. To “say”
it. Who cares,
right? So, when
you sing your
song about old
men, no matter
the look on your
face, I’ll think
‘glorious!’ I’ll
think that it
must be true—
my every dream!
Well, not all of
them. As for
my additional
dreams, tonight
the moon weeps
for each of them.
They will each
take time. And
a little bit of
death, shall we
say? Yes, death.
But what’s a
little death for
but to enthrall,
invigorate, in-
vite introspec-
tion. The pun’s
on me, and why
not? I’m not a-
fraid of myself.
Nor what I’ll
find. Some may
say that’s a bit
naïve. But not
me. I have plenty
left of my sleeves,
clumsy as I may
be at finding I’ve
lost nearly half
of what I was
carrying up in
there some days.
Goodnight, you
gloriously sad
weeping ball
of cheese. I’ll
see you tomorrow
night. And that's
something you
can count on
for certain.
