Nowhere is it the same place as yesterday.
None of us is the same person as yesterday.
We finally die from the exhaustion of becoming.
This downward cellular jubilance is shared
by the wind, bugs, birds, bears and rivers,
and perhaps the black holes in galactic space
where our souls will all be gathered in an invisible
thimble of antimatter. But we're getting ahead of ourselves.
Yes, trees wear out as the wattles under my chin
grow, the wrinkled hands tha
It's raining, it's pouring
Everyone turns boring. I plan on living young, forever -
whatever the weather. Stir crazy, we're lazy, walk-about-baby Getting soaked, full of jokes,
ribbit, ribbit, croak, croak.