5286. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I MEAN

I DON'T KNOW WHAT I MEAN

What do I want to emulate? Paris, Harry? Or could it

be Harry, Paris? This world is too much with me, late and soon.

Or sooner and later? Oh no, here I go again  - smokescreen to 

the heart, a fury for the jury, and so much more to come. I don't

know what I mean. What do I want to emulate? That trainman,

running his contraption out of control until it crashes off the tracks,

like so much else, so much other. All those morning-sleepers

sleeping in their seats. The six a.m.crowd, all dead on arrival.

Or dead on non-arrival. Smashed in the deep woods along

the pre-dawn tracks. No one should look. Take it all back.

The funny Chinese guy, from the U.N., all official and bewildered

looking. He sat down and ordered Cheerios as he held his Panda

suitcase and his official car sat outside. The driver could do whatever

he wanted; with Diplomat plates there's no rule to stop him. I

could wish to do that? Or, instead  -  same place, same time  - 

outside the Secretariat Building and just across the street, I could

chase that girl now walking  -  just watch her sway and move.

Until she saw me. Until she stopped. Until she called me over.

What then would I do? My luck, I probably wouldn't know

her God-damned U.N. language. Just my way again. What

do I want to emulate here; an International tongue, for sure?