Until Tomorrow

I’ve ducked and dived

I’ve tucked and rolled

Yet somehow, the germs

have filled my head

like expandable squirts foam

and the tissues have

absorbed enough of me

to make a clone

If only we had a machine

That ran on snot

I could sell my liquid

gold and retire to the woods

embracing the good life

until then

the cotton wool brain

will rest again

until tomorrow

Thoughts

I did well to avoid it for so long but I regret to inform you that I have a cold. The poem must still be written and so must the thought. So this is that and that is this.

I love this picture. Life imitating art imitating life. I swing between the two extremes of working hard to produce something creative and relaxing most of the time.