It says I'm ninety-two

[Erthona]

Well that was an interesting ramble, typos not withstanding, withstanding. Not really up to your usual cleverness, but then really, when is anything? If this were taken under Spartan wing it might make a good filler in a stand up routine-new thing-obscene. In the sense that anything is a poem these days, it is a poem and in the sense that no one has any authority to judge any art as bad, it is a good poem. Of course the truth (which does not exist) would say it is neither, but that is what one gets these days a mixed bag of over-cautiousness saying nothing. Thus the "Great Nothing" is what I have to say about your "Great Nothing" except that it almost looks pretty on the page, although it doesn't and it might be something of note were it not tune deaf, although if one has a preference for sour notes as many seem to have these days, there is a veritable Debussian Symphony in which to soak. Not to find new nuggets, but to come back to the same familiar cud that one has chewed for years (I should know for I have chewed such a cud many, many times, whilst I ruminated). Still, in the end we all must die, no matter how insignificant we make our insignificant lives, for Death is no respecter of non-persons, no matter how hard we try to forget our selves and like you I have forgotten myself more times than I can remember. As you are older by a few months, you have gone where I have yet to go and as with Billy, how am I to say, what I think, you should know? Rightly spoken how can I criticize your words, for I know not if you have used the right nouns and verbs as you physically walk this arrow of time, but in the mind, in the mind we do not care, for it has no sway over us there. So let me meet you in your twenties and I will be twenty too, for the possibilities are endless what things you and I might do.