Accurate accusations are exactly on point,
My family and friends have me down
Calling me repetitive, a repeater, or laughing
When I use my only superpower
Which is to bring something back in a conversation
Long after it was said.

I love the familiar,
The obvious,
Especially, when it’s used in obscure ways
To make a point,
To get a laugh,
If for no one else, at least I know where it’s going

“Everything’s Right,” that’s how it all started
Phish filling up my car with the song of the last week,
I can’t get enough of it
Everywhere I go I’ve got this playing
On repeat, because that’s who I am,
Right?

The seat in my car was heating,
Outside the wind was blowing across a soccer field,
Dew covered the ground and
I wasn’t sure I was up to running,
The doubt and the lack of interest was pushing back
Against my musically inspired changing motivation.

Eventually, as is the case with Phish, the song ended,
I laced up the trail shoes and headed out,
Socks soaked in a second, lungs complaining right away,
“Everything’s right…” swimming all over my brain,
Reaching down to my heart,
Putting a spark in my soul.

The thing is I don’t know the words to the song,
And I don’t run normally run with music,
So on the headphone free ten-miler,
I was stuck singing on repeat,
Over and over again,
“Everything’s right.”

It was awesome,
Around the pond all those times,
Stopping at the batting cage, Nancy’s stop,
Running across the Y-parking lot with a finger twitch
Around the pubs and back.
It was right.

Getting into that zone,
Where the singularity occurs between the breathing,
The form, the voices in the head,
That melding of it all makes whatever
Oh, so satisfying
And this run was that.

After sitting for a few minutes out back in my car
I went Mr. Rogers, changing my shirt and shoes
Before starting for home.
I was still singing those two words, the sun, the sky, and endorphins
Were still right, but as the song came on, the Phish refrain was changed,
“Frrreeeeeee!!!!”

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E left and is curled up in a ball on the couch.

A few minutes ago,
With a plate of pound cake,
A glass of cold chocolate milk,
And a drooling pitbull by my side,
Sheltering in place took over for a moment.
My frustration took away from the sweet sounds
Of Phish, Roggae, and Eric Clapton, “White Room,”
Both live versions
Full of energy that would normally electrify my senses
But, tonight, were nearly overwhelmed
By a day where the orange one could claim
He had more than China.
Fortunately, there is power in music,
When Steve Winwood pulled his shift,
“Georgia,”
I was back at the Wachovia Center
Watching him play live,
A memory to provide a distraction
To the madness of what’s going on.
The cake is nearly gone,
I’ll guzzle the milk in moments,
My dog is not drooling anymore,
Although my leg is soaked from him
Resting his hopeful head on my lap.
He got his piece,
May peace come to this madness in the world.
If not, I’ll be playing the grooves out of this music.

And then Bruce Hornsby came on,
Feeling better…

It’s come to this, bundled up in gray sweats, lots of layers, Phish on repeat, and a struggle to keep my eyes open. The day of service has passed on I feel like I’ve been going all day, running, driving, trying new foods, putting laundry away, and whatever else got done. The clock says that it is only seven, but I feel like I could sleep right now. Why not, I napped through the first half of the Sixers’ game this afternoon. Sometimes workdays are easier than holidays. For now, I’m chilling, Roggae keeping me awake until I’m absolutely out.

Three minutes of effort,
One to recover,
What could I possibly think about
During that short running time?
It’s not like my mind can drift,
The Curve requires concentration,
I lost my balance and nearly fell once,
But my mind was ruthless in its wandering
So I let it go,
Thinking as much about the music as I could,
The rock GOATS Led Zeppelin,
The jam legends Phish,
Neither of whom I’ve seen,
But both clearly in my mind,
A picture of bands playing instruments
While their anthems blasted through my headphones
And my feet kept a simple pace for all of three minutes at a time.
For a few rounds, Tupac and Cube took over,
My mind locked in on their words,
Appropriate today, just as they were back then,
My mental image was MTV,
Not guys on stage shredding the air with instruments,
But dudes creating an image, crafting a message,
Selling the end of the rock and roll
That I grew up with.
I was into their styles,
The anger, the frustration, the calls to action,
And the minutes rolled on
One stride after another
One song after another,
One drop of sweat after another.

Is it the ocean flowing in our veins?” from The Wedge, by Phish.

Just before the latest cosmic collision
I was tying my biking shoes
In the Jersey Shore Mecca of gyms
And experiencing my own variation
Of being a human netty pot
As water that had pooled in my sinuses
After a wonderful swim in the ocean
Started cascading from my left nostril
Like water from a hose in the garage.

After blowing out most of what was left,
I started riding, indoors,
The sun had beaten me down,
I just wanted to sweat a little.
Opting for my music instead of the gym’s
Allowed for some Phish instead of Disturbed,
Which put me into a meditation zone,
Which let the thoughts flow,
Acknowledged one by one,
Let go just as they came
Until I got stuck on a thought about breathing
And wedges, as The Wedge blared in my headphones,
As the ocean that I swam in started dripping, again.

There it was, the latest cosmic collision,
Something about the oceans, wedges, and
The implication that the salty water is so important
An elixir, a cleaner of sinuses, a test of our bravery.
Again, these collisions are coincidental,
Yet they happen, and by the way, I wrote about swimming,
Yes, in the ocean, for a new project I’ve just started,
Could it be that I am finding connections just because,
Or maybe the ocean does talk to us or runs in our veins.