Monday, July 3, 2023

16, 381. ODDS ON

 ODDS ON
I've always thought - to a man (person) -
on cavalcade Earth - that our steps were
prescribed for us. Nowhere to run, nowhere
to hide. 
-
Headstrong in all others matter of taste and
declaration, we paint our kitchens to colors
that we like, and take our ideas from wherever 
else we choose.  It's just like that, and simple.
-
 I don't take guesses on things I don't know
about; nor do I place bets on horses I've
never seen.

16,380. GESTATION PERIOD

 GESTATION PERIOD
Take the robin from the tree, and
you've still got a robin and a tree.
Those are singular objects that yet
remain.
-
It's not like that with dreams and
hope  -  you remove them, and 
they're gone.

Sunday, July 2, 2023

16,379. NEGATIVES

NEGATIVES
It's difficult for me to stay negative 
when everyone is saying the 'right'
attitude will win my day. It may well
be just as they say, yet I harbor my own
digging doubts. Everything sideways falls
off the cart. I am my own worst enemy.
-
I awoke today in a hole so deep and
black I thought there'd be no coming 
back; but by 4pm it was pretty much
gone. Last night, again, was little sleep.
At 9pm the town's fire whistle blew is
nightly signal, and I though that we 
were done. 9:30, the dirigible assholes 
got started with fireworks. The next 
house down the hill is about 1000 feet 
off. He got his 40 minutes of nitwit
folly, and then the next house got their.
And then the next. Each of 3, sounding
like a conspiracy.
-
With a 'rest-home' here filled with 
doddering fools, I was surprised at 
the lack of consideration . No sleep 
for me!

Saturday, July 1, 2023

16378. HEADINGS

HEADINGS 
It's been a really long time, in years now,
since I've heard a truly aggressive voice
directed towards me; and noticed only
by its absence. That's a true distinction,
and one worth the mention. 
-
I think the mark of a man is how we
note the passing  -  some men get buried
strangely, with those nods to their distant
past : the Marine Color Guard, the fresh
and preserved uniform displayed in plastic, 
on a hanger at the front. Yes, I always feel
the Government is out of line with that
re-possessive move. What is all this? A
Communist Soviet, taking back all its
souls for its military life anew? Does
not this 'malarkey' ever end, and do
men not have 'lives' in between?

Friday, June 30, 2023

16,377. MY CENTRAL BEAM HAS FALLEN INTO THE WATER

MY CENTRAL BEAM HAS 
FALLEN INTO THE WATER
My house has fallen with it. The center respite
of my days. I find many things to like, in this
naturally de-natured world, and for those I
hold them close. A whistle in the dark; some 
odd moment to remember.

16,376. I CAN'T REALLY LET THIS GO

I CAN'T REALLY LET THIS GO
My trust in mischievous things is gone :
marbles hitting against marbles, kids
throwing cards against walls, boys and
stickball in an old schoolyard. You just
don't see that stuff anymore.
-
Now they park the electric cars at the
charging stations and just sit around
with nothing to do but watch the
postal trucks come and go. The old
rail cars back there? No one delicately
cares.
-
I can hardly take living anymore, and
if the dying wasn't to be such a task, 
I'd be gone already?


Thursday, June 29, 2023

16, 375. FRAGMENTS

FRAGMENTS
I dazzled my spaniel with my hipster elan, 
and once, and long ago. Now there are only 
penny candies, penny-antes, and penny-whistles
to go : The Bitter End, the Other End, Cafe Wha, 
and me. Bent and crooked and old and all gone.
-
When I see these places again, in my dreaming,
they are like lost dances from another place and
time. I am climbing to Heaven, in a descending
barrel of hopes and possibilities. (My fragments 
are all broken at the kneecaps).

16,374. SO LOADED DOWN

 SO LOADED DOWN
My saddled back is old and
groaning; there is a mystery 
now in every damned ache. I
want to run off, to ancient Egypt,
and be found in some cuspish
chamber. How long, I wonder,
can those tar-torches burn in a
deep, dark, pyramid; and would
I be alone? Or are there spirits
wagging, waiting for intruders.
-
I'll leave it all to imagination, since
there are not really any true ways
for me to balance the gauge of what
I say. This modern world has far
outgrown the idle speculations,
and we run from dark to light in
and instant - not much more to
be said there.

16,373. OF MANY MATTERS

 OF MANY MATTERS
In the mornings, here, as I arise,
before others, it's very quiet. The
hallways at 5am are dim). I get 
tended to throughout the night,
with changed IV's, etc. Then, 
about 6am, (and there are things
about this do NOT like), the old
people stir. Their thankless TV's
are off by then, and long before).
I've already gotten to know the
voices by hearing. Oddball old
female chatterers, who make the
rounds waking the others up. I 
keep my own doors closed, 
since my day-one here, to keep 
out  the chatter. But these 
so-simple voices drive me 
batty. 'Good morning! What 
will you be wearing today!'
-
A gold-mine of contested sanity.

Wednesday, June 28, 2023

16,372. NORMAL OCCASIONS OF EXCEPTIONAL MINUTES

NORMAL OCCASIONS OF 
EXCEPTIONAL MINUTES
On the main street of town here  -
they tell me  -  there's a nice little
supermarket. It keeps to itself,
though there's no parking at all.
Which is weird. One has to find  
a spot out front, metered or not.
Another item I don't know about.
I'm sequestered in here, all the time.
-
I only hear what people say. My wife,
who enters that fray almost daily, will
always tell me what she finds. I'm all
helpless here, and finding my way by
imagined steps alone.
-
In the commingled existences of some
200 souls, there's a lot of noise sometimes,
amidst the geriatric silences : that's pretty
strange too. A resounding echo, from a
silent auditorium.

16,371. MOSTLY, EVERYONE'S GONE MAD

MOSTLY, EVERYONE'S GONE MAD
You can slide the infraction under the door,
the place where the corn flakes glide. There's 
a raven in the window staring me down. Quoth
the raven : 'You're a bore!' My, my how things
have changed.
-
This quality of mercy is not strained; I always
wondered what that meant; baby food? Strained
peaches or beets or pears. I like my spinach straight.
-
The tan dog walks by again, looking sideways at 
me as it goes. In the aboriginal night of some
dream-time circle, I'd be fearful, but not now.
I am safe in the Heaven I stand beneath.

16,370. THERE'S PLENTY TO DO

THERE'S PLENTY TO DO
Planning revenge on Putin, in a
criminal game called 'Retaliation',
is an online delight. I crush him 
under a bulldozer just for fun.
The moon comes down to drip
on him. The scandal of the century
is called 'Co-existence.'

16,369. I DON'T REALLY WISH TO WRITE

 I DON'T REALLY WISH TO WRITE
I don't really wish to write about this 
because it's not my way. Everyone meets
someone somewhere. A girlfriend? It was
so long ago. I used to walk through all
weathers to the library each night. Maybe
2 miles at most, but I don't even know that.
She and her girlfriends followed me there.
I guess we began talking, but I really don't
remember. They were all a pretty-nice bunch,
of 4. Without much to say, I just started to make
stuff up  -  being from somewhere else, stories
about my life. All of it, at 16? What a walking
funhouse-mirror jerk was I.

16,368. HOMAGE

HOMAGE
Atlas? Zeus? Thor? Aries? Any
of those folks worth messaging?
Would they even know? The dastardly
cast of eras gone my. Another Mt.
Olympus Mafia.
-
We can't contact the past unless they
already knew their own futures. That
never happened, so give it up. Ideas as
wild as lemongrass just fall down and 
wither. Here I stand, Lord, somehow yet
without you; my barren civilization
somehow fighting feast and fire, 
famine, wars and murder.

Tuesday, June 27, 2023

16,367. MINOTAUR

MINOTAUR
I don't know who left the door open, 
but man they let anything in these
days. There's no sense in making 
sense, just like that. I've moved
mountains before, so I guess I
can move one of these. Chattel, 
to roof shingles, is there really
any difference these days?

16,366. MARTIN BUBER

MARTIN BUBER
I'd like to leave the trees and
the forest, and the scrutiny of
others. I am tired of being looked
at up and down by empty caskets
of renown. This is a dismal world,
and one which holds nothing but 
a frugal sense of stupid juggling,
back and forth, to me.
-
Leaving the covered area vacant,
I'd like to stand aside again and 
see the wide expanse of possibility.
Be damned, these small and 
strictured things, by contrast 
now (and I, and thee, and thou).

16,365. I CAN'T IMAGINE

 I CAN'T IMAGINE
I can't imagine anything else but this, 
and if I 'can', it all comes out some
other way: Leaves that grow from 
sockets instead of trees; rivers running 
uphill, and under caverns; deer and
animals that can talk.
-
It's really too onerous for me to 
hold onto. Not creation's way, for 
one thing. The Sun, which may 
run from left to right (depending 
on where one stands), insists 
instead on east to west; how to 
make sense of that is a test. 
-
Help me, help me. I don't need 
the confusion. My hands are full
and my mind is busy.

16,364. HUNTING TO THE GLASS

HUNTING TO THE GLASS
As in a museum diorama, I can see
through to the other side of life. The
hunters with their spears stare back
at me through weeds, and there is
little beyond the marsh grass but 
murk, and a sabre-toothed tiger.
-
I have to stay crash-happy, even in 
this wreckage. Too little to say about
the ivory and the tusk.

Monday, June 26, 2023

16.363. MY SAVAGE DESPERATION

MY SAVAGE DESPERATION
The birds have gone from off the
ledge. There was supposed to be a
band, in town, somewhere today, at
the bandshell, but I heard nothing.
No matter. At noon and nine the fire
whistle blows; a sort of central
notification for a town still afraid 
from its last conflagration. Any
of that has GOT to be better than
my savage desperation.
-
At night, all night, for me, this all
turns ghoulishly wrong : my mind reels,
expanding my imagined troubles into
new and worse grotesqueries. I have 
nowhere to turn, no friends, no kin, 
here, in a place like this. The power 
is worse than the wish.
-
I'm pretty sure, for me, this is the end of
of the line. I'm scared and I'm desperate;
like in a savage way, when a glass no
longer will hold water. (And the
birds are gone from the ledge).

16,362. RUDIMENTS, pt.1.303

 RUDIMENTS, pt.1,303 
(the shakedown was in the kitchen)
I've long lived without certain things; 
items I've always disliked and avoided.
'Sweats', for example. Those loose, saggy
sack-pants that so many like to stay in, for
days at a time. Pretty gross, to me. Shorts
too. In my adult life, I've never worn shorts,
and won't. I don't like the feel of them, and
that Etonian, British boys-school thing that
goes with them, was never me. Anyway, 
back when, riding a motorcycle in shorts
just seemed a terrible travesty. 
-
I co-existed with lots of things I disliked:
schools, church, various cares and palliatives.
TV. Some music, and all those short-end of
life things that can really ruin a day. Most of 
my life was spent 'undirected'  -  I pretty
much roamed, at will, and came and went
as I chose. It was funny, in its way, because
after a few years of seminary training and
discipline, I took off like my own Huck Finn,
once all of those rigors were removed. 
Procedures and process, be damned.
Good or bad, I don't really know. At home, 
my parents seemed more confused, or feared, 
of me, than anything else. Nothing was ever
instilled; advice was nil. It was a busy family,
and I just stayed away and then was gone
(again); given nothing, and taking nothing.
It was an empty, quiet, life, which I liked, and
my rigors of self-training and book-learning,
after all that had gone before, were gracious 
to me, and important to me too.
-
Nothing held much meaning to me;
holidays and celebrations without any merit.
I ignored them all  -  if I wasn't laughing
in someone's face over their 4th of July
ridicule, I was throwing a firecracker
on my way out. Demon-trouble lookalike,
but I knew my ways.
-
After a while it all appeared simple; the
family dichotomy was was : Father represented
brute force, anger. Mother represented a
soft, feminine (in those days) passivity
and some sort of drag-line by which she
has pulled along by kids, family, stove and
home. 'Too much confusion; I couldn't
get no relief'  -  to paraphrase.
-
I found out, after some time, that things
that don't start out correctly never end
correctly either - call it Destiny; call it
Fate. Your choice.



16,361. A COMMUNION OF BUM MAGICIANS

A COMMUNION OF 
BUM MAGICIANS 
That's not me, that's Allen Ginsberg writing :
a crisp soliloquy of words once more, in
pursuit of the damned technocracy, in 1955.
Military-Industrial complex, and Herman
Kahn together, rolled in a ball of fat.
-
It was all rough edges, along the groin of
11th Street. The fastidious love-doors of 14th,
always in service, stayed quite busy as well.
I tried to listen. I tried to listen. But there was
really nothing there to hear.
-
The multi-lingual desperados had already laid
their claims to all of the street  -  from NYU up
to Columbia too.

Sunday, June 25, 2023

16,360. LIKE A REMBRANDT

LIKE A REMBRANDT
Like a Rembrandt afire in
some Rotterdam hallway, I
listen to myself burning. One
of those so aimless portraits
now flaming. My multi-tiered
hat, atop my very dark head,
on fire as well, and raging.
-
Nothing really to be done, for 
there is no fire-brigade here or
I would have seen one painted
already. It's funny like that  -  in
a town like this, what shows up
in census books and business 
lists can't always really be found.

16,359. RETURNING TO THE FOLD

RETURNING TO THE FOLD
Returning to the fold is one thing, but
expectations of not showing a crease
are another. (I an now a wildman, in
calm-man digs). Having parked my
chariot, and doused all the flames,
I've even turned in my Thor-hammer.
I'm too shot now for that shit any
longer.
-
Haven't you heard the news? No one is
wild in the streets anymore; unless it's 
the Gay Parade or some Juneteenth
revelers let loose; those are the only
ideologies left that people know.
-
Philosophy? Existentialism? Paradoxical
Realism? There are foreign concepts in
such an Idiotville we now are given to
live in. Our leaders are hacks and criminals.
Our nails should be scratching their eyes, 
but our inactivity rolls over into a sold 
mass of nothing  -  a Mass even the Pope
won't recognize.

16,358. NOW IS THE SEASON OF NOTHING

NOW IS THE SEASON OF NOTHING
The air is carrying nothing today, and the
day's new nurse lady just told me it's humid
out. I don't feel a thing like that, even with 
these tiny windows up, the little bit they go.
There are no morning noises here at 6am;
just her.
-
I could sit here dazed and confused, but
I manage to stay sharp with writing and 
reading, in a very nice one-bed isolation 
of my own. It's a gracious world in that 
respect. It's a nice world, in my drawn
imaginings. I keep a mental sketchbook, 
sort of, of everything and I do have an 
actual one as well but haven't brought 
it out. Never dug that 'Art-as-Therapy' 
stuff, and won't start now.
-
From here, I'm betting that it's not a solid 
world, and I can walk through clouds and
other objects as I go. Probably wrong on
that, but I can learn 'bruising-as-therapy'
to work that out.

Saturday, June 24, 2023

16,357. KETTLE BUMS

KETTLE BUMS
Not the glory of the drums; just the bums.
Those streetside guys who hang around the
fires in barrels. Leaning against a signpost
or fence, or something larger covered in
shitty graffiti. The landlord wants it gone;
the street crowd, with their lattes, say it's
Art, with a capital A. A big, fancy car 
rolls by; ravenous and wild in its polish
and space. Rap Star or mogul. Anxiety.
Notoriety. New Variety. Impropriety.
-
All these sidewalk mirrors, they reflect 
nothing. The model's teeth are gone. The
cocktail crowd lined up at the curb is
facile. Dumb. Stupid, and Loud.
Anxiety. Notoriety. New Variety.
Impropriety.

16,356. A HAPPENSTANCE OF CAVALCADES

A HAPPENSTANCE OF CAVALCADES
They say the Earth once shuddered and shook, 
with a wobble to end the world, and a flood, and
a confusing 'redo', by the maker in charge of us
all. Why would that be then, and not now? We 
are all more sick and mentally deranged. For 
our God to ignore all this is ignoble.
-
I'm claiming  -  OK  -  the world as sick; a
nightmare of philosophic dimensions, deeper
than we ever have had before. If the world
doesn't now wobble, we do; and stupidity 
rules our day.

16,355. MY TRAVEL BAG

MY TRAVEL BAG
My travel bag is filled with 
nothing; would you like to 
share it too? Yes, I've ranged 
the local hills and mountains,
but all of that is now gone. 
Through each journey, I've
brought something home, yet
now I can't find a thing. While
the solemn night's moon tries
ascribing motives to me, I tell 
it back I've never had any.
Anarchic then, I simply 
ranged and roved.

16,354. DRAFT JUNK

DRAFT JUNK 
(just fade away)
I've come from afar, to bring you
something new - though now that I'm
here there's really so little to do.
I've been 'interfered' with, from 
so many angles.
-
There are officious agents of change
afoot, though they don't even know 
who they are, nor what they do. I'm
tired already of so many old, encrusted,
voices around me. The old should fade;
just fade away.

16,353. A WILL TO UNREASON

A WILL TO UNREASON
I seem to be awaiting something : I can feel it
in my bones. Were I a willow, it would be the 
water flowing below-ground for sustenance
and pleasure. As it is, it merely irks.
-
As usual of late, I am alone  -  staring out at
nothing much, through a plate of glass. The
world at this remove can sure seem dreary,
as if in a Summer that never came.
-
'Containment' was once a policy to keep the
'Commies' at bay and in check. Some 1950's
George Kennan gibberish that held a great
credence then. Now that's all over, and we
are as they were....while 'they' again crumble,
we hope - maybe warring between themselves,
before it's too late, and us.

16,352. A WONDERLAND OF MIGHT AND GLORY

A WONDERLAND OF 
MIGHT AND GLORY
A Chaplain came to see me, three times in a week;
he said his name was 'Norm.' That was OK by me, 
and - when were done - (first visit), he gave me a
Gideon's Bible, the kind hotels and motels all
used to have. It was a kind and gracious gift, 
thought I - all those episodes of power and
strength. Norm was pretty meek, though
with the Word he kept a certain power.
-
He left by telling me to take to heart the
words of psalm 139: Every word in it; and
that I can do nothing except accept whatever
God has already written for me, a script
from before I was born: cryptic,
mysterious, and already settled.

Friday, June 23, 2023

16,351. WHOEVER CARES?

WHOEVER CARES?
So then yes actually, who cares?
Why all this solicitude to life and
manners? The women come in as
nurses, exuding their manners and
forcefields, leading nowhere. I bow
at nothing and, apparently too new
and young for this 'patient' crowd,
here must only accept their medicines,
upon which my manner of being hinges.
There's no one here I'd recognize, nor 
even take an evening stroll with.
-
Good fences make good neighbors, but
on such a count, really, who cares at all?
-
My skin is raw and my hairs are all ripped
out, for tapes and removals and needles in 
place. Blood sticks to skin, and a large
bruise now grows where the needles go 
in. 'Tis said, 'Pride goeth before the fall' - 
but whoever now cares of that at all?

16,350. TITANIA

TITANIA
The Titanic, I see, keeps having its own
'Titanic.' A ploy to keep the headlines 
current? Or a plug for the nickel and 
dime froth of modern, expensive, 
tourism? Who knows now, and who 
should care? All these modern Tesla 
types have too much money, and too
many expendable kids.
-
In the background now, some ancient
nitwit keeps playing old music. 'Volare',
by Jerry Vale, or maybe Dean Martin.
Thank God it's distant and I cannot hear
it well. It must be on repeat, like a more
solid me, and all my moments.

Thursday, June 22, 2023

16,349. JUNE TRANSPIRES

 JUNE TRANSPIRES
The May Apples are gone now; the
June Bugs too. Half this Summer world
already slides away. I stand winsome and
soiled. A pig here, in a smart, human suit.
There's no value to any of that, but it 
doesn't matter now. They gave me a
TB test, today, as I entered. 'Mandatory
Government rule, and the damned needle 
went in. 'It's highly unlikeable you have
TB.' I love the new use of words.
-
If the world too could be so re-defined, 
it might then be a better place.

16,348. RETURNING TO THE CAPSTONE

RETURNING TO THE CAPSTONE
Somehow, my life has flown off its handle, and 
I've never been more afraid of it - ever. Keeping
me over the edges, in these soulless, hospital rooms, 
midnight-long beepers and buzzers leave nowhere
for me to go. The fate of a 'patient'? Always impatient.
Yes, fate keeps own wheel, and I feel strapped to it.

Wednesday, June 21, 2023

16,347. THE MOB HANDLE

THE MOB HANDLE
Outside this sheltered hospital window,
the local landscape is green and sweet. In 
most respects, a place to be - or pleasant for
me anyway. I enjoy these sights, even in my
near-fatal lock-up now yearning to be free.
-
There's little room for me to turn. My situation
dire and  -  for now  -  my hands ae tied, and
will remain so; for I have no key, and - lucky
to be in this on place, remaining.: And I will 
stay this way for as long as it may take to reach
 my proffered ends. (Not quite happy, but filled
with the love of friends).

Sunday, June 11, 2023

16,346. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,302

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,302
(read it again books)
This is going to be a Rudiments in
a different fashion. The day will be 
Saturday, June 10, a nice, pleasant,
warm and temperate day which was
quite welcomed in. The drive we took
covered, in total, the 25 miles between.
here and Monticello, NY. We make this
trip perhaps once a month. The main
reason being a used book store with a
a strange sense of assortment and 
selection. It calls itself, 'Read It 
Again Books' - and is run by the
Literacy Volunteers of Sullivan
County. It is run tightly, and squarely,
with an exceptional assortment of 
books, sold inexpensively and
orderly. Now, you must understand
from where I speak. This is the old
Catskill Borscht-Belt Comedy section.
Sullivan County. At this time of year,
whichever Jewish Camps and Schools
are still around  -  and there are many -
are rousing to life as the greenery here 
spreads. Wherever these books come 
from, I do no know. Yet, the selection 
is large, and invigorating, in ways 
you'd not find commercially  -  lots 
of Jewish-religion titles, memoirs 
(One of my first, and most-prized 
buys these, which I've read, and 
re-read, was a book called The 
Rise of David Levinsky, (published 
1917) and written by Abraham 
Cahan, publisher of the Jewish 
Daily Forward
-
I return here to that section of Route
17B that runs to Monticello and then
connects with the larger Rt. 17. If you
look at a map, you'll see. As I said here,
all along the way are remnants of the
old Summer Camps, and (current today)
the Hasidic Communities and settlements
current in place. Monticello Racetrack.
Route 17, the Main Route, reintroduces
one in the larger make-up of the developed
world, with all its assumptions and gross
mannerisms. If you let it; for that need not
happen. Like avoiding a major turnpike,
and staying on back road  -  those other 
roads with their small paths and stories  -  
it can all be avoided. You really can avoid
the 'Present' which is not 'present' at all.
Fosterdale. Smallwood. Callicoon. Liberty.
Mongaup. Jeffersonville. And - lest we 
forget  -  Bethel. Where Woodstock 
actually happened, though it now calls 
itself Bethel Woods. Though places, all 
still speak their tales.
-
All along these ways are numerous
ruinations  -  massive hulks of old Hotels
and Boarding Homes, Summer Camps
and Settlement Houses. When you get the
farthest out, that's Liberty, home to the
Sullivan County SPCA, where, of late, I've 
been sorely tempted to undertake an
adoption. Also along 17B, at some Road
Puckee Huddle Road, there remains standing
a home (?) to which I always swear it will
be falling over in five minutes. Never does.
-
The influx of people are (to the bookstore)
is always curious to me too. Yesterday,
a threesome of svelte, quite fetching, NYC
types came in. They were obviously urban NY
types, and I could only imagine what a
surprise this place may be been to them.
Perhaps they were each about 28-30. They
chattered amongst themselves about what
they were finding, and the prices. I was nearby,
in a reading chair, and could most of all
their conversations and impressions.

16,345. WHAT WE MAKE

WHAT WE MAKE
What we make are all segmented lodgings
of other concepts of time and logic, to fit
within our magic of space and time. That's
how lines are made  -  for the places we can
walk between. The Philadelphia Navy Yard
can answer of the score; not me. Mothballed 
ships are a contagion of old time. Things will
fit in the sky that will cover the eye!

Saturday, June 10, 2023

16, 344. CAPSTONE

CAPSTONE
Every dog has a damned-double of itself
hidden in its innermost soul. That's why
they're always barking, when it catches 
their attention. No leash nor cage is any
good for that. Maybe people are like that
too (I won't stick around here; instead just
dive in and swim away). I don't feel the
need to stay.
-
Down at the water-side, there's an old 
light-pole, one which hasn't had a light 
on it for many a year. That's OK with my.
I hate outdoor lighting, and it's people too.
-
My last couple of days have been relentless
and engaging too. Nothing' I'd wish to retell 
or repeat. I awake each morn with a scalding
anvil inside my chest, on fire, black with heat.

Friday, June 9, 2023

16,343. LOGICAL

LOGICAL
For 5 weeks now, I've again been 
dragging around a fairly dead body
that couldn't make it through a day
I've never taken naps in my life.
Not stopping progress, the shovels 
still run, but I'm not sure of the results.
-
It's all finally lifting, and I have yet lots
 to do. The yard has cars, and I have yet
more bills to pay.
-
There's a nonchalance I'm trying, like
walking into a supermarket and whacking
someone with an orange. I want to rise up.
I want to do push-ups. I want to break the
narrow bonds of Logic which hold me down.

Thursday, June 8, 2023

16,342. WE STILL LIVE

WE STILL LIVE
We still live next to a
watery pond, where all
the kindred spirits fire :
Now red-fire. Red skies,
and dark light.

Wednesday, June 7, 2023

16,341. LIKE A MUSIC WHAT USED TO BE

LIKE A MUSIC WHAT USED TO BE
Narrow times, and distant angles, like Grenoble,
and Iceland together. Sounds in a strange tongue,
yet gentle and real. Are we entering this world? 
Or leaving another? Each time I seek finding 
out, I am lost once again. The sign on the fence
reads, 'Keep Out,' as a Private Property for sure. 
I cannot see why. To let more wreckage bloom,
to let more wreckage bloom.

Tuesday, June 6, 2023

16,340. WHENEVER I LOOK AROUND ME

WHENEVER I 
LOOK AROUND ME
Whenever I look around me at all the things there.
I get ruefully sad. John Baylor will be leaving here 
soon. Trees, and sheds and buildings. Old homes 
and grand places. Ancient pastures where yet the 
cows range round. Everything together in their 
one happy place. John Baylor will soon be gone.
-
It's not a manticle of fear or stagefright, for 
everything is all arranged: The flowers and
the incense. The funereal sadness and the dull,
plodding ache. A release in a way, more than
it's worth. I can no longer focus nor even see
straight.

16,339. I TOOK A TRAINLOAD OF PEOPLE TO CONNECTICUT

I TOOK A TRAINLOAD OF 
PEOPLE TO CONNECTICUT
None had ever been there before. For a minor-league
baseball team of the Colorado Rockies. It was all I 
thought it would be, but the why? Everything had 
funny names, and they thought it all was Yale. (The 
Hartford Yard Goats, formerly the New Britain Rock 
Cats), swaggered and huffed through the root-beer 
like innings. Beer for the swigging, thankfully, 
wasn't that easy to get. These minor league guys 
keep a close watch.

16,338. WAITER, WAIT, THE WAITER'S HERE!

WAITER, WAIT, THE WAITER'S HERE!
There are any number of way to visualize this: 
One waiter waits, while another shows up. But
I dislike crowds, so no crowded table scene for 
me. Someone, seeking to talk out of the crush,
finally utters the words, 'Waiter, wait, the 
Waiter's here.' It sounded funny, when it 
was said. Everyone laughed. Great service!
I like this place!

Sunday, June 4, 2023

16,337. TIVOLI GARDENS

TIVOLI GARDENS
The stretch of groomed grass to
get there was engrossing. I never
had done that before. Like hiking
high to another home. Overall, it
was nothing I needed. Two dogs
came over, trotting along. They
make friends easily too, I guess.

16,336. ICE CREAM

ICE CREAM
Intense to a fault, the ice-cream
guy is trying. What can he do?
You either want ice cream, or 
you don't. It's just the crowded 
mess of competing, more and
more. I remember a place in
Flemington NJ - it was ice cream,
and then coffee, and then right
next door, the same thing again.
Everyone tried so hard to push
the things that no one necessarily
wanted. It was so bad people let
their dogs decide, and what
sort of life is that?

16,335. IN TRYING I FAIL

IN TRYING I FAIL
Everywhere I go, it's fake. Up
in Callicoon, at one of those
dispatchy old hotel bars where 
no ever shuts up, I watch the
flapping jaws take over : now
blowhards, now tyrants; everyone
in the right. Mouths a'jumble.
-
This end of the colorful bar, a
new story or two : the farm girl
newly widowed, out with her
friends for solace. 'They say it
all rolled over on John and he
was crushed.'
-
The barkeep  -  or whoever that is -
is a crabby old guy, counting, always
counting. Seems like there's never any
fun if that's all you can do. Multiply
the occupied seats by an assumed 
number of people entering, and he
already knows his day's take. Must
be the rain bringing him down.

Saturday, June 3, 2023

16,334. ONE SHOVEL FOR THE GREEN LAWN OF LOVE

ONE SHOVEL FOR THE 
GREEN LAWN OF LOVE
Morning again, at the one-headed shower,
at the apple-grove water-pump, near the
parked tractor-mower still ready for haying.
The fields have their rows now, as things go 
in and other things grow out! The crop-fairy
is already hard at work. We move so slowly
it is  -  by contrast  - a surreptitious deal.