![oaks1](https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3772/14296287873_84cde3beaa_z.jpg)
Last night’s Mad Men with Burt watching the moon landing under a big Jackson Pollock with his maid,
![oaks2](https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3828/14296291103_bc8d6ea6d9_z.jpg)
the same moon landing that my father held me up to the TV to at only a few months old, a holding I swore until I knew better that I remembered being held,
![oaks3](https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5534/14089455348_1eeaeb6f77_z.jpg)
got me thinking about the big paintings,
![oaks4](https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5508/14089466739_43e909938b_z.jpg)
squinting through the oak trees that limb/limn their way across my whole life, sometimes even falling through my roof like a loosened astronaut
![oaks5](https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5572/14272789661_2de1a9656c_z.jpg)
or Don Draper falling
off that office building already, what with all the balcony shots all the time.
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