January brought replenishment of material wants and desires while disproving my immortality.
February, it was no different except the additional negative factions of truth.
March was the blessing which conquered my blue fatique, restoring me not quite to new.
April then reared it’s sick, ugly head; can’t wait till this useless month passes away. That’S can’t, maybe won’t. Cut it short, kill it.
May I look forward to dancing and flowers and liberation from strings that thus far attach my meager existance to this locality?
Maybe I can. Maybe not. May just have to wait ’til June.
Till then, may life be a blessing on those who are good.
G’day, beautiful people. Be well.