He’s got this playlist —

that he made.

He usually can’t remember even naming it, or all the work that went into creating it. It’s got this timelessness to it, and he guesses he must have known that when calling it, “Music”.

Songs jump off and on like tramps at slow bends upon railroad tracks.

No postage paid —

Welfare mail —

Indigent envelope —

General delivery.

~~~

It’s a Universal Playlist, see.

The music hops on, hops off; whether or not he even curates.

Like God he likes to think —

— And drink in

All what time —

— And chance made

(Tha’tis

“Him” Who ‘makes’…

[…But we all know]

Of itself —

Was it all made.)

~~~

A piece comes cross the list played —

A song for Pokémon, in major chord laid.

And She, stranger waylaid by wondering, wandering passed says,

“Stars O’er Lake Verity —

Verily, thou dost cel’brate?”

“Nay, nay,” I say

“Twixt mine and that vast refrain is only some place I lay whilst sojourned in this particular time and place

Might be I put’it, but twasn’t I who made purposeful play, or naming — nor made”

“See, I do,” she said and askanced once again, “But tis some fair chance of meeting then, friend — and why’for I must asken thee then…

If thou couldn’t make catch of but one, which thereby could thy claim lie then forever hence, t’would it not — ”

“Nay nay, thee know what answer I’d give. Pikachu, obviously, if t’would be only one of innumerable, interminable all which could I catch…” He continued, “But thee, indeed, which one such Poké would thou BE if’nt to one thoust were chose’t — to be allowed to be?”

“Indeed, indeed” lustily, she.

“A Pika like you, then I’d be wha’twere caughten, and be’for were sought — me yours and your mine — that I name us slaves.”

“By Pete!” he exclaimed

“What is thou’n to which I now conversate?”

“Pika, Pikachu — what? Is not such language’ likely description enough?”

And there then they fell in love.

But when they climbed out…