Amidst the tussle, amidst the tumult, the stars have
never left the sky and this long night of wagering
fates goes on. The black car in the driveway seems
at rest. The thin crescent of a moon piles up ideas
for me to think on. I'd never want to leave this now.
If I listen deeply, I can even hear the majestic river
running - it roils its ruminant rippling rightly.
I know there's a place - distant and away - where
I can go : not to be shattered, not to be healed. Just to
go. To self-identify with myself, in the way that it's
called 'to be whole again.' No magic there; just a
simple man's simple psychology of self. I'm off.