8761. THE STRICT MATTER IS THE HARD STUFF

THE STRICT MATTER 

IS THE HARD STUFF

All the things which once used to grab

me, now turned soft and nothing, remain

a meaning with no context : the light on

the end of the shield, the skyline, where

I see it glowing. Every story, having

now reached a sort of end, seeks an

addendum. I'll gladly give it.

-

Return me to the house, where I 

shoveled to sweat, watched sun melt

snow, only later to see the black tar

of the roadway emerge. Again. We 

have footing  -  something as equal

in good as a blossom in Spring.

-

I speak now, warbled in some pensive

memory, of all those other days I still.

recollect. Some ten kinds of birds, each

fighting it out around my head for noise.

The mosquito arc and the woodpecker 

hammer. On and on and on it goes.

The hard stuff is strict matter.