TWO HOURS IN HEAVEN
(Cont)

 It's nutty, I guess for a man with an autistic, contrary   way.   But like my dog,  therein hangs this tale.  

My first awareness said to me, "Hey, part of you is missing, wonder what, why and how come ?"  

That  aching, lonely void cried to be filled by another body, personality, ally  -   what ever called, I needed it to join for me to be  a complete entity. Although my life was full nd happy there  was alwaya room for more searching.   

Questions to Mom, Dad, Granny were vain,  our doctor was no help either and life wewnt on . . . . .

TWO HOURS IN HEAVEN

Eight plus  years ago the foundation for this edifice was dug . . . . . . . me handling the pick and shovel.using every bit of energy, strength, and ingenuity on this marvelous site the greatest   that could be had -   worldwide !

It  has been worth every second of time, labor, sweat and thought  I could possibly expend and a labor of love  to boot.  But I find that I am much too tired to continue tonight so must put off my recounting 'til tomorrow.

'Tis worth it to me, hope it is worth your waiting on my strugglling words - - - - - - - 'til tomorrow then, adios  . . .

                                           .  

SPEAKING OF FALLING

Speaking of falling,
Which I wasn't,
But will  -- as it is calling,
Big Mouth Berserk,
No Stone Walling . . . . . .

Due to age and such,
Things detrimental,
My body doesn't respond much,
To exercise torrential,
So  I find mydself in "Dutch",
Orthopedically.

Changes in posture and gait,
Skews my balance a bit,
Consequentially it does wait,
'Til I'm out of it,
And much too late,
To save face.

SO  . . . . . . . . . . 
T'other day,
Face down I was,
In our driveway,
Erasing gravel with my forehead.

Scabs, scratches and scars resultant,
Perhaps a psychiatrist or M.D., should be my consultant.

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Really happened  - - - Bounced my skulll in our driveway,
All but stubborn scabs remain.
Note to self - - -
Watch your balance !

                           FASCINATED                        

The act of festination,
In all creastion,
Has little relation,
To anything common sensical,
Look it as rather nonsensical.

'Tis an out of time body,
A feverish frame of mind,
Amid a nation of uncoordination,
Wherein the pickled feet wind,
Rapid fire.

Let me tell my story afore it gets gory,
The body in search of equilbrium,
Tries to match forward motion of upper story,
But like the Indian said, "They don't agree'um,

So, like a Danse Macbre,
The body,  continues to weavw and bob,
Oft ending face down, a bloody blob.
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Try that on a stair case. huh ?

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