While I’m in a poetry mood, I thought I’d do an angry one. Philip Larkin’s Aubade. An angular rant against humdrum existence tempered with the fear of the inevitability of death.

I downloaded an app on my phone that allows me to record voice. It does a great job. I don’t know how this will appear on a computer screen but we’ll find out soon enough.

 

 

I’m working up to something luscious. It’s in my head and it’ll be here soon.

 

 

Aubade