On the eve of the Festival of Long Weekends he looks forward to nothing
he makes arrangements to fill the void deftly balances momentum and memory
Lost in reflection literal and otherwise
the figures and forms numbers and symbols that populate the landscape
In the process and analysis he loses the capacity for touch
intimate strangers fill the bill one way or another we all pay
He’s prepared to die alone knows he made that bed a long time ago
there are tears but no self-pity the facts are what they are
He has recorded and filed them though no report will be forthcoming
the facts are the facts it’s perfectly understandable
Poet13's Blog 
I understand this… on many levels.
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Cognac and cigars!
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No matter what this world has in store for us, thankfully there is cognac and a cigars.
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