shadows move

shadows are moving
pointing their fingers,
fingerless as they
are, to suggested
points of interest.
my tour guides.
they are magnetic
and random. my
heroes whom i
used to worship
with a wish
of transference, have
not grown old
in graceful manners.
awkward and lumbering
they forget the
mine field they
tread. any hazard
in their way
is negligible, as
far as i
can tell, and
they lurch with
heavy shoes, dancing
wild and wanton.
what happened to
those artists that
seemed, in view
from younger eyes,
limitless in power,
wisdom, wit, and
energy. tired, they
all must be.

hope does spring
from Lou Reed.
"The Power of
the Heart" generates
or regenerates both
passion and competition.
"oh if i
could write that
well i would
be happy, perhaps."

i think i
can i know
i will i
have no doubts
new records will
be made, permanent
and well listened.

grimm