3878. I WONDER WHERE I WISH TO BE

I WONDER WHERE

I WISH TO BE

I don't know the time, and long ago forgot the

day  - things pass like that, they pass away.

That sound I hear in the morning air - the same

people going off to work : the guy in the gray car

with the bike rack on the back, The woman, always

with a bag of food. It all means little to me, less at

least than I can see. I meander instead, to watch the

sun hit the Prospect House trees, the garbled patch

of water and Summer flowers spewing everywhere.

-

Here's a nickel, take a dime : I hear the old church

on the Limetop corner running its morning bells again;

as if this was some medieval town, I'm supposed to

note the time and give my reverence up to that church's

moment. How foul : they do not know I already do so,

in my way, long before and without them. Hubris like that

should be buried in the churchyard they run; a sick

graveyard of trimmed trees and dried, parched grass.

-

I can wrestle sin and time, temperance and crime, or

any old vice at all, here there and everywhere, and

any old time as well. I am King of my stupid matter.

The fence-gate is yet open, nothing leaves, but

then again nothing enters either. What great Duality

presents itself to me? I wonder where I wish to be.