5465. HERE THE DARTBOARD STANDS

HERE THE DARTBOARD STANDS

Draw me a stage of my heart, pick the moment

you like  -  then aim your dart and throw. Wherever 

it hits, I will feel it  -  wherever. There is no better

moment than the one I'm in right now. The icicle has

peeled the frosting from my own sense of self.

-

I am serene. In walking along this siding  -  so much that

is empty and gone  -  I am serene. the cemetery nearby, 

now whitened and smothered in an early morning form 

of fog and dew, slowly tries awakening but cannot. Will

not. Let the dead bury the dead and there they'll stay.

-

The capstone and the cornerstone are both alike  -  signifying

something like a sound and a fury, topping the ledge where

we'll make memory of the world we're in. Part of that is

automatic, the rest we do ourselves, quite deliberately too.

-

Some morning creep nearby now is simply stuck in place;

revving his car  -  much as an idiot would crayon a wall  -

revving his car for nothing at all. In place. Singularly, and

going nowhere. Oh, how I do love the symbolism of all

the things I see. I ladle it all with baggage, giving meanings

each of my doubts. I am here. I am not really here at all.