Whatcha Thinkin 'Bout
whatcha thinkin ’bout
nothing really.
it is true.
at an age when
the mind is on
permanent vacation,
I float on a bed of soft
feeling, selected memories.
occasionally a thought
creeps in disguised as a
smallish notion then bursts
into a real head-banger of
an idea stamped, to the one
who used to live here.
Like throwing a bone
to a toothless dog to be
slobbered over then
discarded for a nap in the sun.
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