Limited by Reality

Such a good title and not written anything until today otherwise known as tonight. And for all it's worth...yet again, limited by the clock. Bedtime. For a certain chappy. Learned enough from last night. jan nine...wigmore...vanita and eileen...chilling with violin and piano and few beers later...a great rest after midnight....some fools beeping at me as I made it there in under fifteen. 830 is the golden hour...although, he was up at some obscenely early hour...like five or six. Tears we know. Pancakes....You mean you got no flour? Poison purple pancakes. Green is less appetizing. Her flower...today given myself some flowers from the skip. Your baby. My Chicago. Ow. Owls mooning me from the trees. tattoos on tv. Dog of my future. Who's saint am I today and whose dog? What misfit woof and mellow howl? What gift has not been made? (JSE) Her gurgle. Yes I know when a babe is sick you stay home. Luckily, Ben didn't remember you were coming. Let down so many times that he rolls with it now. Rolls with the punches...off to karate...no time to remember that you were coming over to fix the remote. Ballet and modern got me remebering the pirouetes a few hours at Bedford house and cool times with Riense. I scrubbed up. Tidied up the fridge. Throwing it out. Need someone to help me toss it out. Sent skater boy on his way this morning. Over to babysit. Destructive nerve wants to help him but only so far. Need the door mate. Unhinged by your helpless demeanor. You notice I ain't listening and shorten your babble. Brook. babbling brook of broke. Be gone. And come again when I need you...to babysit.