And so it goes, life is too much fun to have spawned much creativity lately. Molly’s back, the weather’s fine, my lovely mother is off the narcotics she took for her hip replacement two weeks ago, and men abound. I have no complaints.
This is a pretty song: The Sprout and the Bean
This is a pretty poem:
A man with a box walked up to a woman with a boy, gave the box to the boy, said, “Don’t drop it for a change,” and kissed the woman, sucking up her rosebud from her mud-color. It bloomed. He said, “Let’s go.” They went, with technicolor haloes of the usual around them. Why? Because: They come from a star, live by its light, and burn with it here in the dark outside of the department store. (Dugan)
And I look forward to a quiet weekend.