3774. MADRIGAL

MADRIGAL

Leaving the entrance at bright of day, the

telling dawn, the beginning of something :

catcalls and the sunlight, the noise of

many birds. All those sticks of granite  - 

the cemetery markers before me  -  all

those I can do nothing about. Every

tag a storyline with an ending. And I,

of little care, pretending.

-

I am so lonely. I want something to

latch onto. I hear a door slap, the only

manmade sound I get. Someone else

scrapes by in a car  -  same Malibu

crap in a beat-up paint job. Just the

way the poor-folk do it, so do I. Let

me learn a language  -  something,

anything  -  by which to converse.