grief: back from Alaska.

he struts out threw everything, unafraid, untamed, he flounsis the great fitnessn of his arms, the great whitness of his skin, and I am old, and crippled and crinkled, and I think I might stink, for all my white t-shits turn a bit green under the arm.
he says hello to me, laughs with me, acts as if I am some great ancestor of his, he is the son of my son,or at least could be, and I am horrible to think so, but he is so young and, so fresh, I believe perhaps, if I could smell he would smell like bananas dipped in full fat milk.
in the eyes of the court, and almost everyone, I am a wrongful, terrible man. but this is love I feel, for the wilderness within a young fruitful, idiotic man. for the innocence, and dark intentions, for his bathing within all that the earth could offer, I open up my folded chair, and I glare and glare, as he strolls through it all.
he embraces me for what seems to be less than 1 tenth of a second, undesired, I sit in the corner, how could I be.
 he is a mere boy, and the world awaits his triumph and victory, his well written widely read poetry, I will say, I knew this boy, I love this boy, the way no man should love a boy.