To My Newborn Daughter, Years From Now

Standing high upon the knot In my ladder years, I claimed to be the king. Now, the crown horrifies me. Still some gentle cruise is within me. Like Saturn turned upside-down. Would we notice the madness in the crème? If there’s anyone that’s going to point the way for you it’s me. Not out of self-aggrandizement, out of pure love, And full, final redemption for all my short-comings. How do I stop the avalanche? Why do I feel I need to stop the avalanche? Is it really an avalanche? Or do I like playing with visions, Responding to my own antics with mock melodrama? Let the bizarre stay bizarre. I’ll be in the corner selling coconuts.