My left elbow is sore… Not movie heart attack sore.
It's cold AF sore.
But I didn't come here to talk about that.
I don't know why I came here.
I don't even think I came here come to think
But if I came to think I'd ponder… I wonder…
I wonder why wander rhymes w/ ponder while
Wonder rhymes with blunder.

Fragments of thought linguistic jazz and jargon — free of charge my battery
The year has battered me, I mean look at me on wounded knee and 'tis of thee
I sing this body eclectic. Cleverly, like David Lee, clownishly,
Adverbially, I mean really?

I'm in that early morning twilight but the sun is out.
It's just that this son is in thrall, enthralledly thrilling chilling
Quite willingly
Spilling the
Blood sweat and tea
                 of
                       Rediscovery

Uncovery for the love of the recovery
Of every parcel and part of me
Deep at the heart of we.

My left elbow is sore because in June of 1982, at the age of five, I snapped my humerus in half trying to fly off the jungle gym. I flew.
Until I didn’t.
It wasn’t at all humerus.
Funny thing is…
I kid because I was a kid.

Supracondylar fracture of the humerus with compartment syndrome and the fear of Volkmann’s ischemia… they opened the arm, set the bone and did a fasciotomy to salvage what they could of the arm. Left it open for a few weeks. Seven operations, pins, reconstruction, skin graft from leg and voila. A bionic arm.

And an elbow that hurts on cold days.

I was watching Lianne La Havas play guitar and marveling at the dexterity and power in her left pinky finger and wished I had the patience to develop my pinky like that. Until I realized that maybe that ulnar nerve from the accident in 1982 is a final piece; and if the price of having a working arm is a sore elbow on cold days and an over-reliance on my ring finger when running through scales, then so be it.