later after a warm shower i thought it was like a bardo, limbo?, between the sea and the city, between the dead father and the errant son, between the stilled air show and the raucous storm, hey between lives, why not, under the rain-lashed, weeping spider bridge.

then thinking not cheerful about cheerful, and ghosts, not cheerful ghosts, about cheerful as as sarcasm, cheerful about the government not showing force, about implied terror rather than applied. actually now mary margaret i say i did mean cheerful, i indeed was cheerful, that even the implied terror show was silenced by timely storm, by dark matter in the form of a cheerfully angry storm.
today the u.s. birds of death fly and i am afraid even of the implied terror, and cheerful they have no payload of shock and awe, they won't kill us anyway, because we are us, and we fly them. yet to think of them is to think of ghosts, not cheer, not cheer for the ghost-makers, and not of the ghost of my dead father, tangential, not cheer for his waving flag that blew in my face in the wind on his porch in the summer house i squatted in the bleak winter. see it's complicated and can't be simplified, it expands and you can only hope consciousness with it. dark matter, cheer in america, happy birthday to the dead.