Upon a rocky outcrop I stand, Opening myself out to the wind, And there was a rushing together of my inner and my outer, the deep calling for the deep, my struggles and the universe.   I stood alone against the wind, and all the beauty of the world, and love, that comes with sorrow, Feeling in unison with the air, The perfect breath of the wind, Holds my presence, here that I am.

Just as I went to open the door A shoelace untied itself, tickling the floor. My foot is slipped now from its vessel, So I bend and attempt the reunion Of my whole shoe and it’s disconnected brethren; For it cannot bear this vagrant, As does a Creationist, for it is Darwinist. The shoes look like twins driven apart. One’s a fixture, the other founders; Each won’t work without the other. So my crouching self begins to repair The damage caused, this footwear rift; My weight over the whole one I did shift. Foot in place, laces tied The pair look and feel complete. I gingerly rise to my feet Open the door and step outside.

Old Boomer's been a rock and roll kind of Mr Clean; A soft-bodied doll squashed in faded blue jeans; A smiley t-shirt with a bullet through its head; Pony tailed standing on a stairway, up where a zeppelin had lead; In for a party and bragging about a naughty; His hunger for an unsatisfied youth, typically contorting.