Funny Guy

I'm a funny guy, if you cut through the bullshit, what's left is a kind of humor, a sardonic grimace, one last slip on the banana skin. Like Groucho said. Tennis is just a game. I don't trust words, I love them, but I don't trust them. I always think you imagine something I don't mean. I want you close but I'm a private person, maybe the slightest bit strange, smell strongly from recent physical exertion (hacking my way through blackberry and bull-vine to get to my door) but it is the odor of honest labor, not a purchased scent, honest in that regard, like smoke after a fire, and I don't really know what you think of me. Maybe trust is an issue, what I would allow. I is an issue, what we could do with him. I'd like to stuff him in a box and put him out with the trash, but where would I be then. On a different dung-heap. Consider where the Scioto flows into the Ohio. I've considered this particular confluence on many occasions, we might say I know it well, still, I know almost nothing about it. Disheartening. On the other hand. Go away, go away, Dixie Land. It's good to get to the bottom of things. B said something, I don't remember, I could see he was annoyed, I had driven back roads for what seemed like hours, Bear wanted to hire me to talk with him, this is probably a dream, one of us will wake up and fly away, that butterfly. Saw another black squirrel today. Think about that. I need to eat more, but I'm tired of chewing. Nothing is shocking. I don't want to see them, but I swear to god, driving in tonight, the county road crew has mowed the verge of Mackletree and it is beautiful, canopied, filtered light, post-card:

I'm ashamed to admit
how much they mean
to me, three crows
on the road.

Tom

An inverse reverse Idaho. My gift to you. A matter of course. Tacking the wind. -Is it blowing, Bob?-