What is this? A spectator sport?  What am I?  An educated guess?  

She heard everything I missed

before and after quizzical words

were defined – Never.

Chop them up and make no sense

answers to questions that don’t exist.

Wisdom frittered on youngish beings

 imps of nature, so it seems.

Wooing the future – incessant chatter

listening is painful, so what

does it matter?


As my time in Florida increases, I find myself becoming less and less social.  The longer I spend time alone the more dissonant I find group conversation.  If I close my eyes and listen, I hear the sound of “estranged”.  Is it that I share no reality with the subject?  Am I a snob, or do I prefer to be following Bob Dylan’s “Tamborine Man” in the jingle jangle morning?

“Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin’ ship
My senses have been stripped
My hands can’t feel to grip
My toes too numb to step
Wait only for my boot heels to be wanderin’
I’m ready to go anywhere
I’m ready for to fade
Into my own parade
Cast your dancing spell my way
I promise to go under it.”

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