I met a man a dying man

I met a man a dying man and I said me too.

Met a dead man and I said me too. Must be

dead cuz the living can’t meet the dead and he

said me too. Did you know the dead can fall

in love he said. Fact. Did you know the dead

fall in love better than the living cuz nothing

left to lose. The root of all blues. Skeptical still

I strode onward in my seven-league boots as in

the fairy tale “Hop-o’-My-Thumb” from a book

of German fairy tales given to me when I had

chicken pox. Scratching myself bloody, the ogre

gored to death by wild beasts. Seven leagues per

stride toward a dead banjo player in a bad

mood. Enchanteur. Or zauberhaft in German.