Jeff in the Midden

He's not dead yet,
But he's making
Steady progress,

Combing over
Heaps of his past,
Brushing off bits

Of detritus,
These forgotten
Things that felt right,

Things that felt wrong,
Although he finds
Them all right here.

Here's that old song,
The German one
He used to like,

The skeleton
Cuddling the girl.
It speaks to him

Now, as for all
The abandoned
Memory pile,

Sighing gently,
Give me your hand,
I am your friend,

I am not fierce.
Don't mind this mess
I've made of bones.