sitting by the French doors 8:00, it’s April evening dark writing by the light of the Pink full moon listening to an old John Prine song “that’s the way the world goes round” doing my memorial to his musical gift, and wondering who’ll be here tomorrow, i may be, i may not unless i’m only frequency either way, what i need to do is send my socially distanced love to you as spring comes in with all its' visual glamour and smells of new life winter fades and with that the transforming of much artistic energy
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