The Smoke

And never to return. And no more slim girls.

Excellent, truly excellent.

Reminds me of Ferlinghetti and my first, now dead, wife.

Posted by bob sykes at April 25, 2016 4:37 AM

The fog creeps in on little cat feet.

The End

Posted by Jack at April 25, 2016 7:05 AM

The imagery reminds me of Wyatt, but your mood is much more forgiving and accepting, less reproachful, and on the whole, more wholesome. Bravissimo!

Posted by Punditarian at April 25, 2016 11:47 AM

Getting old is kind of bittersweet isn't It? You remember places in sort of a sensory way ( I think that's the residual of too much acid) but you can never go there again so you do what you can to live and leave a legacy of having lived.

Posted by bill at April 26, 2016 10:40 AM

Ahhh.. Once again you have touched the heights of sensitivity, extending your editing skill to compose a post that "touches" the hand of the mystery of life. Gerard, I have only occasionally read you lately, but each visit is so joyful. God bless you.

Posted by rem at April 26, 2016 11:50 AM

Always, all ways, heartstrings strummed, bitter sweetness and love.

Rare and well done, Gerard.

Posted by Howard Nelson at April 26, 2016 3:55 PM