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Emergence

Don’t take it personally my sudden lack of voice.
I’m over it. There was nothing done wrong by any of the viewing parties.

I haven’t had a nice quiet moment alone in quite some time.
That last week of May that barreled into the start of Juno’s month had her visiting, of which I wrote a bit.
Follow that by a week leading up to her birthday, not in any way earth-moving but a secondary plotline traversing somewhere in the occipital region of the headspace, whilst I and compatriot, lieutenants? packed and racked ourselves into worry warts as big chief boss left us for a family vacay on the emerald isle, a vacation destination, time and derivation equal so to the wandering travels of one Leopold Bloom, Dublin June 16th of whatever millenia you wish to take part in; Aye, that was somewhere in those shadow dates.

& after that to #Orlando, tertiary week and full sun cycle since that other casual mass killing. A city strong and hashtag blown for solidarity and some soft commercial capital on the side, a city who’s streets I wondered just the same oblivious or non coerced against wandering and exploring time be come be damned.
& we found a speakeasy.

& finally upon my return home, after a fortnight bouncing ’bout, come home to find father bouncing dearest niece and nephew ‘pon his lap, mimicking the sound of kamikaze engines in the sky as the plastic spoon sought its central target, chasing around in the middle of the day two frenetic supergiants in the make, father, son, grandfather all in one, guarding castor/pollux for the day.

You know,
cause he got laid off.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

ha

And what is this sensible son to do?
Get high and play pretend?
What good is it to sit here once again
and play make believe with you?

Is it good?
Is that what I bring with it, with me?
Is it Good.?

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