8749. AND OH THINGS THAT ARE FADING

AND OH THE THINGS 

THAT ARE FADING

All this is getting so sad. There's a mast to the

mizzen ahead - we must bow and keep sanity

brewing on ice. Let me read the list of little

men :  the blowhard, the official crier, the

man with whitened hands, the few who've

never worked. Enough of that for now.

-

I go away to visit. I go to Westbeth. I sit on

the bench made for me. I look to the west;

seeing nothing except what I am waiting

for. Two quibbling lovers come by, entwined

by tongues and arms. I want to gently say : 

'Isn't it a bit early for that?', but then I 

realize I really don't know the time.