A tablet housed in a keyboard
I riff a base line run of where
to begin the bottom line
And it’s all crap and discord
And I turn to a capo that
no longer clamps down
And I fret, fret and fret
trying to recall
I did a dawn… in the near
distance… morning bourbon
then memory, yet again,
fails to strike a cord and I’m spared
A bowling metaphor poem. Just how much more 70+ year old can one get.
And if that’s not clue enough, last night I listened to the last third of Dodgers/Giants via a Sony 6 transistor battery powered AM/FM radio.
And I was listening to the below stream when writing this.