After the migrating migrany storm

I wake up from a darkness,

grainy with the growls

of my own worst selves

Three days

the vile spirits held me hostage,

until I found myself in a movie

on a raft

on a calm ocean;

the grotesque, black clouds on the horizon

descending into the light,

straight out of Doré's Bible illustrations

and my old Jehovah's Witnesses friends' fantasies

- and today

James Webb is getting ready

to talk

about the beginning of the beginning,

and it's the 1443rd / 2568th and 2079th year,

and also the 12th Day of the 7th Month of the 2022nd year

I lift a cup of coffee,

again at large,

accepting my invincible vulnerability,

reasonably ok

with the long last

that can't be far off

for the likes of Bob Dylan and myself

and all the circumstances

of our habitual habitats

Let Memphis Blues ring again!

Everything is crossing paths

with itself,

and we go as we come

The Dalai Lama

and my honorary father-in-law Sigurd

turn 87,

but I still lack evidence

of a few facial expressions

as the day dawns on me

Some time after Midsummer

the birds go silent,

and the fledglings knock themselves out

against the Haushofer windows

of the farm house

NOTHING is quite tough enough!

Don't even mention SOMETHING!

I lie here,

trying to maintain brain silence

Is it lonely when nobody is there?