It is what it is.

I don't like having Alz Disease. I dislike the vagueness, the pauses that almost never refresh, the stutter that builds to an unbearable explosion, propelled much of the time by a yearning to unleash a stream of feeling, a desire to let flow the deluge of pent up words that will never come out right, the misfire that stops the flow cold, or worse yet, the "spitling" that comes bursting, gargled, and twisted, gutteral and raw, a mad dog, chasing a tail that cannot be caught, behind a cruel master who seems to delight in the pain of expression, the master that drags and alternatively, praises and scolds, never knowing when to cower, when to growl, when to expose the belly, when to cover and slink. Keep your powder dry, your wits about you, or rather, pretend you have wits, for these are in short supply, and there are dangers unseen, ruses and false leads, dead ends and tight corners, cul-de-sacs and broken roads. Today I am fine. Today I love and honor, and have integrity...but the under-belly is exposed, and the roads tend toward misgiving, and the light dies slowly, Faulknerian, brusque, uncertain lines, meter decaying, ...where is love, where is the rest of me, my blue-eyed son, or you my one true one...