POETRY FROM CHILDHOOD:

ENTITLED: FLOUNDER'S LIFE: (rev. to "Make sense.")

HERE WE ARE THE DEAD AND ALON; THE SPEECHLESS IN QUIET NIGHT, YOUNG, ALIVE AND FREE?

We were to be silenced by nighfall, forever. We bowded to our maker, we lowered and returned.

Flander's refuge, qiet in the night, now. Free and alone, here quietly hoping tomorrow will find the light.

Flander refugee, you dont know what you dont know, what you dont do for me.

You and I alive here in this desolation, take my hand, love is at hand - show me the pathways to your heart. Where does it begin and end; oh, where do I start?

This is backwards, a world away from your heart.


DECEMBER 6, 1978:

"ALONE"

She lives alone, vacant and quiet. SHe lives alone. THe doorbell rings; it isn't her son. Her curious eyes search him, fo r him she should know. She's just quiet now, not having any memory this man. "I live alone, she scowled!"

Insisting on his questionable residence, he wonders why, why his own mother can't see him eye to eye; for in her minds eye, she lives alone and cannot groan, she is the only one living in her home.

Senility is bliss!