watch out she said, when they do their musings, half reminiscence, half complaint and the third half wishful thinking, like one hand reaching under your skirt, as though they still knew what to do down there.
mostly that. and i agree. when you are old and grey, though i am not yet neither, you may prattle a bit, as long as you're not babbling, or worse, drooling.

i do love that poem of yeats, and you won't mind if i quote it here, yes?

    when you are old and gray and full of sleep,
    and nodding by the fire, take down this book,
    and slowly read, and dream of the soft look
    your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
    how many loved your moments of glad grace,
    and loved your beauty with love false or true,
    but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
    and loved the sorrows of your changing face;
    and bending down beside the glowing bars,
    murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
    and paced upon the mountains overhead
    and hid his face among a crowd of stars.

yes, yeats. he was twenty-eight, when that poem was published first. and though i do not own the hubris, nor do i wish to make much of my poetics, as i have written no verse, none, but simply made an attempt to express a notion, as some might say, a stream, no consciousness applied, alas this then is my refrain:


i went home two hours ago
but determined to drive the blues away
tears streamed down my face in self pity
i resolved to get even through meditation

when i got to my house
i closed the shoji, the door to the garden
dimming sunshine
i lit candle and incense
turned on the song of tibetans
sat naked in a cross legged position
back straight, arms along side
thumbs touching the infamous finger
in short i was ready to do 
the inhale and exhale
perishing lingering thoughts
tempting dharma

after a long and forlorn while
this much short of eternal
unable to expel sadness
my mind's eye circled the ceiling
a curl of incense caught in my nose
what should have relaxed made me sneeze

no tissues
no blessing in sight nor in mind
i cursed my mantra
and in a fury sent the chant of the monks
into sublime quiet
i blew out the candle
put on my robe
and stormed into the kitchen to make mayonnaise
juice from a lemon, egg, oil, yolk yellow all
swiftly minced celery
juicy and pale
a round spoonful of mustard
fresh tarragon and scissors cut chives
whisked as lovely as virtue
a large piece of left over tuna
grilled to perfection the night before
now in a bowl mashed with slick silken mayo
i ladled ambrosia onto two pieces of bread
beer from the bottle rescued my soul
i ate and felt better that instant
i belched
and stepped out into the sunset to walk for digestion