I burnt down a small forest
I walked in a blizzard of pain
I wish you were here to tell me stuff
Oh what the hell, I'll just lie down
I made waves if the sea was still
We stormed into the rooms
My hands don't work
I hate it that my hands don't work
The turtles heard me and they ran
All over the world little doves cried
You're not supposed to say that
There's too much noise and it's mostly mine
These things bother me
once in a while
This is the second of three versions of this piece. This is most unusual for me, I am not usually inclined toward versions, as far as my pieces are concerned. Tomorrow's version, the last, is decidedly different.
Well, we'll see.
I am narrative-poor tonight, but wanted to post the poem anyway. There's tension that I can't cut through - a MUGA test tomorrow to see how my poor heart is doing with all this Herceptin.
We shall see.
Lulu chased squirrels today, in spite of the heat. I remembered Hunter's reminder: "Any day I take Lu squirreling is a successful day." There's more to tell about where this declarative came from. Tomorrow.
Let's just see, shall we?
Good-night, sleep well.