Monday, June 5, 2017


I don't amount to much. I am a pathetic,
fearful creature, always scared about one
thing or another : a letter from the town
about my hedges or trees, my dog's about
to die, cancer in my middle, a tumor in
my brain, the car I'm driving blowing up.
Everything and nothing and all at once to
boot. Then there's this whole computer
episodic part of me : a temple like an 
apple tree, these are, tending to flower
and fruit, not staying that long ripe on
the tree, and then just rotting when they
do hit the ground. Like anything else here.
Ephemeral, not profound. Why do I waste
my time? What a twisted wretch to do all
this for nothing humanely gained. Fellow
humans all around me by the thousands,
and I've got three or four I'd treasure to
the death. One or two real special, count
yourselves among that wreck? Yeah, sure.
Only if you'd want to. The hottest day of
the year, I get to the Carvel window, they
slam it shut right in my face. A yellow
motorcycle winsome tribe goes riding
me. The creeps all spit, and it lands in
my direction. I look up, and there again
is a someone on my lawn  -  diatribing
me about uncertain things, leukemia and
poison in the subsoil and bad air in the
water where the gates are never closed,
I never get it straight but it goes something
like that. So now I walk a meadow, just 
to think that I'm alone, and three kids
come running at me, yelling that I'm
interrupting them. Go home! they're
shout is heard. Tumultuous, and I'm
pretty sensitive. Why here in this world
anyway I'll never understand.

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