I met a lamppost gargoyle wrought-iron bristles wreathed his chin. He was rusted, tarnished, and riddled with pockmarked bronze and gold skin.   I asked, “What warms the lamppost man?” And through grit-laced lungs he creaked to me,  

even though unsure of the reality of the world the starting point of all his philosophy was that he certainly possessed the most exquisite neckties in the universe so much so that he always slept with a tie on

(after Craig Finn) “A Bathtub in the Kitchen” is not a song to listen to when you’re worried you forgot to grow up, when your meds are wrong— not unless you want to wallow and have got no place

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken – John Keats   These rainbow worlds of swirling nebulae arrest you as you thumb past smug celebrities, vacation shots and selfies