Some thoughts, if i could find them
oh, to quasi-present friends,
to heartbreakingly absent coconspirators,
to semi-attendant comrads,
to sadly un-accompaniying peers,
oh how i missed you!
oh how this environs lacked of you.
and now, if you can, could you help me find my thought?
i know it is a shame to ask this of you,
as you just recently returned,
but being a ninja of great dexterity,
and unbending charachter,
i was hoping you could.
no one else can.
Kurt Vonnegut, used to carry some of his best thoughts in his pockets,
but i am not a deep thinker as he is,
nor as articulate.
my pockets are empty of thought.
the cheese, was riddled by a Marxist,
and so held no hope of retaining a trace of even a clue to a residue of the hint. such is the worksmanship in this age.
by the newly erected wing of the falafel stand i had hope to find an errant whisp
of a notion. nothing as defined as a thought, but at least better than an open-ended opinion.
but he who seeks to mix falafel with philosophy will find only stains and smears. a shameful trophy.
i listened in a quiet moment to the second Miles Davisavis quintet. oh, what talents this second itteration of the great five that came before. oh how i would have loved to receivevadvice from Davis, or even Tony Williams. but they are not among us and were known to show their conceptions in abstract form only.
so having no other way, i cut a liver, to eight segments, asking a sea-lion for advice. the Otariid was famous for dispensing poignant truths. he took my offering, examined them at length, and concluded that it needs onions, else the future is bleak. he read no more the otariid of my lacking thought, and hissed and flapped his flippers , as that there were others in the line.
so here it is, my friend. my desperation is great. i can offer you but sordid gossip of the aquarium employees who engage the mercy of the mermaid.
if you could help me, my gratitude will be endless. and though i can offer you no king's rememberance, perhaps i can send you some of that cheese..