Post Script: Bathroom Meditation

She is up there with me.  Being over fed.  Thinking herself into havoc…chaos, laced with bedhead. What is she thinking?  Nothing, absolutely, nothing, in here fits right! I love you?  I love you?  Pardoning the misdemeanor and miscues. Somewhere between Elvis and Stonewall.  Stuck behind Mr. Milk and crying Indians.  An eighties voice of reason rambled roses and ranted…begin again!  Mercy, mercy, me.  She conveyed in disjointed speech. ‘I have been listening to thoughts with poetic endings…since your soapbox could preach.’ Remember ’81 when they told you to ‘…take your style and all the while.  Take the hand Me downs … Continue reading Post Script: Bathroom Meditation