7721. THIS HEDGEBOOK IS KEEPING ME RUNNING

THIS HEDGEBOOK IS

KEEPING ME RUNNING

There is no guardian tape here : all my donors

are dead and there is nothing left. The windows

now are solid block. There is a tide in the affairs

of men that pushes people forward through time -

yet I hear, as well, that time and tide wait for no man.

I don't know what to do about that. I play some Mahler.

I play some Bach. I put some Sibelius down. I am a

rather simple fellow now, and these streets have run

aground and foul of their aces and eights. Right down

the line I am hearing noises. That shop selling leathers

and boots, the restaurant with its so-magnificent entrees,

the small Luna Cafe, with its pizza and oranges and wine.

All together, like a chorus, my dead-days are singing back;

yes, all the words and the chorus are known  -  the only thing

was can't get right is tempo, and tympani, and rhyme.