Grimbeau

It has just gone ten and the morning splurge is underway so it is upstairs for asylum from the maw, if only a modest respite before the ‘big scribbles’. There are a couple of things put up for comment, unenthalling and over-written first person tedium; they do not provoke the bard’s quim: atrophy Trophy.

Morse can dwell below for now: upstairs poems, downstairs for prose. There needs to be a separation or blurring will occur. Did a bit more of Byrdland while downstairs; the Ginge arrived to say au revoir, I wished him bon voyage and off he went till May First. Listening to Tony Bennett and waiting for Dr. Doss, who is late. Feeling hunted, the prey of a vicious and pernicious pack of hounds, always wary and back-watching: just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you!