all the voices of my youth now dead and gone ---
in neverending silence, kept alive only by
listening to scratchy records on an old phonograph
astrud gilberto whispering to me and only me now
I know she is…she’s still alive
or watching mostly black & white ghosts
of films flashing in the darkness
emptying a bottle - again
staring at the scratched stale popcorn ceiling
from my fake leather couch
water stains and cobwebs
fan twirling round and round like time passing itself
feeling sorry, not for myself so much
yeah, well maybe for myself
time passing is a bitch of the first water
I await sweet unconsciousness
no capacity to think - ponder - despise - mourn
about all that goes on …… goes on without me
-- I’m blissfully unaware and for the moment unconcerned
as now I lay sprawled on my unmade bed
in today’s and tomorrow’s clothes
the fan keeps turning
