3030.TOO MUCH AT THE GLEN

TOO MUCH AT THE GLEN

Well we may have stayed too much at the
glen; shades of falling waters, distaff sides
of wooded lands and all those fertile trees.
Things grew to abandon, all while we
tried to live. No one ever said 'stop'.
We gained nothing from the forcefield
but a mind's eye acre of ideas.
-
Some delicate artist, crowing and crowned
like a rooster, came by to stay. His stupid
open-air paintings and all those ideas of
goodness and right did nothing for me.
I tried talking him away, but more than
that he stayed. Libidinous, fruitless and
faithless as well, he painted all day
by the old brick well.
-
I wanted to run him aground with ice and
a pick, saying 'too much at the glen, too
much at the glen.' But, as it always goes,
I simply had not nerve enough.
-
'Open wide your eager eyes! Look about
you, all the things you see!'. I shouted that
from a nearby rooftop, both to keep him
annoyed and awake. If he was not tired,
he'd sure tired me. 'Open wide your eager
eyes. Look about you, all the things you see;
too much at the glen, too much.'