Phosphorescent fingerprints,
In certain significant sands of yesterday.
They were maybe not washed away,
From the view of a famous man,
Whom I wanted to recognize my magic identity,
Vicariously adoring myself from the stadium floor.
"But God knows who, or what, from the show!"
I thought, "So, I should find peace in that, right?"
And, "Yikes!" I thought, "I am so vicious good!"
And, "Nobody does do it better!" I thought.
"I am one who made marks in the moment,
And Jerry and I might as well be in love."
Though I tried not to let my head swell so much,
God knew who was who, or what was what, from the show!
My stadium-sized stature and all my shenanigans,
Were miracles, miracles, I came to proclaim!
"So, can I relax now?" No, I could not relax, then.
So I thought I would try forgiveness for being so 'prefect,'
Which was a joke that I made, the best way I knew how,
But I was, rather, forgiven for being so perfect,
And that's what I knew of wielding Christ way.
Did you catch that mock, oh, Lonesome Dove, pal?
Because of the miracles, Chris and I made a scale,
Which measured the caliber of magic afoot.
The units we used fit nicely with Mockingbird,
A pen name I chose from the song that I wrote,
But the units, just surely, also came from Blue Angels,
And flying and power, this Mock miracle scale.
I liked the idea of Garcia, Mock 50,
His miracles squalling, the band round and round.
All one need do is state the Mock units,
To establish how potent one's miracle sounds.
So, when I returned, triumphant from Dead shows,
Mock units and miracles were things on my mind,
And my breast and my head were all swollen and fat,
And I was desperately dreading to fall from perfection.
So, I sat back at Lyon's with friends in Novato,
And privately remembered the concert we'd seen.
I was searching for credit my actions provided me,
While trying to come off my perch of grandeur.
"Miracles, miracles, and God was responsible,"
Though I believed very strongly in the impact I'd had.
My head was locked down on stroking my ego!
'Twas my ears that were shining as I cheered on the playing,
And a twist in his wrist which revealed he'd received.
"It proves that I'm mighty and we are the same stuff,
Bigger than life, there's love that abounds!"
If the same story is true, all they had to do was,
Forensically follow the phosphorescent fingerprints,
Which, now, I am thinking, could surely have slipped past their view.
SCA 1989