NOTATIONS
Each time I get near a conclusion, my nerves get
jangled - knowing full well that things will have to
turn over again and re-start. Like a garden, tumbling into
Autumn, all those flowers and blooms can only be now
recollected in a silent thought of reverie and grace. Oh
then, would that there could be eternal light.
-
Now my mindless drift tries escaping from even itself.
An escarpment of rock and ledge, something doleful and
steady, keeps dragging me down - pitfalls, mistakes, and
all the groggy regrets of an instance-pervaded lifetime.
-
Three men stand outside their bar; they look too natty to
look like shit, but they each are half-drunk, near to a
stagger, and only outside to smoke a cigarette and talk
of nothing in the cool night air. I know they'd rather be
swimming inside, in their drink, where the air is warm.
-
Poor devils, exiled now twice - one cannot drink outside,
and yet one cannot smoke inside. What's a barkeep to do?
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