daddy wasn't there

i miss the sundays of my childhood when daddy would dress in olive coloured corduoroy pants, little flop patchwork beret, beat poet glasses.. and he would snap his suspenders as a cue for me to dance as he taught me.. flipping my tassled flip and catch stick with my batons.. while imagining i was also a poodle trying to dance on two legs like a human.. he had said that if i ever got 10 out of 10 then we would head to town square for busking.. and meet his friends mr Bolton and his shenanigan trio. i only ever got 9 out of 10.. and now daddy isn't here and the dance that never was feels as it never did not feel.. a hopeless projection of how i wish things worked in the world maybe? or perhaps it is just a nod and a foam bread with a penny to the con man and woman who still need more. perchance it is a mere or minor chord on a stringless guitar. mayhap it's just a fart on the wind down a stream of not a nostril. maybe less. or something more. in any case their hearts grew one size shrunk three sizes and then gained but a two size. at any rate i don't even want to post this anymore and i apologize. if the man who invented forced creative emotional scuba diving were here(or was it a woman?) would he say, bravo? or would he.. fluff? sneeze? ask for his money back or free time to be compensated, would he but sue me for calling this to even be of that kind of thing? in any case i truly now more than ever wish i had stopped typing this about 3min ago.. at any rate I'm pressing post now. good day or night to whomsoever in the world shall look up for a moment after reading and then not notice any transitional thought.. for me it is good.. please allow for my humiliation tolerance levels to stay within 2pts range of here