subtraction.

...and another 'nother old friend is gone to the southwest.
damn.
they keep moving on, and moving away,
and i'm still here in the singularly single-occupancy Folk Life & Liberty Fortress ,
doing more and more of the same few things,
with less to show for 'em,
and fewer folks to share it with.
neighbors,
i'm surrounded on all sides.......by empty chairs.
awwwww.
it's a hard style indeed when your closest friends are all the farthest away.
and that's especially when the space you occupy most often has got SO many
spare seats and empty beds.
the presence of that much absence is clever, but not comforting.
...
it's like this:
take a real life.
on location, all sorts of site-specific scenery as a backdrop to adventure and comfort;
with a vast cast of overlapping connections among characters that flesh out the story;
spanning time, and creating, and talking, and working towards goals,
and savoring the rewards and the fruits of their labor and their garden an' that...
now,
minus people.
minus places.
minus things.
what are your left with?
ummm,
you're left with my life, i think.
and you don't want that.
word.
i blinked,
and another 'nother year rolled away already.
the busy summer season is busted open,
and the rivers of gold and silver have run dry.
the big action is over,
and the test of endurance has begun all over again.
i didn't notice at first,
because i was so damned busy,
working every day until there wasn't any day left to work.
...it wasn't until the few remaining interlocking circles of spirit and memory were absent,
even if only for a weekend,
that i really noticed that the closest connections i've got are all smoke rings.
yes, of course,
we're all well aware of them when they're right there,
ghosts made real by virtue of your breath-
the by-product of hot fire and kiss-pursed lips, and sigh after sigh after sigh;
but,
what's left behind when they're gone is just the faintest of traces,
and nothing else.
if less is more,
than i'm the most,
but if too much much is the right amount,
then i've not got nearly enough.
*
for my part, these days i meet or exceed expectations.
i think that's a thing.
well,
i hope so, anyway.
fifteen minutes, or fifteen miles,
or fifteen weeks, or sometimes even fifteen years are not too far,
or too late to do what i've said i will.
i follow through, for all that's worth,
but i don't follow anybody.
that's the problem with being a fire-breathing barbarian bard....
as long as you're burning up, roaring, raging, and blazing away,
or even if you're simply smoldering through the muttering midnight
of a lengthy, lonely week-
smoke is still created and curated;
but,
all the smoke in the world won't create a fire.
sh!t.
smoke rings can't last.
you can chase after them,
but you can't keep them.
the most reliable thing about them is that they always eventually disappear;
never quiet, never soft.....