To me you are more an idea than a person or
being; I guess that's hard to handle. A shadowland
like that is, I suppose, where they've always put
God too. Beats me and mixes me up. If these
are notebook thoughts, then the rest of these
towns are all jitters - like fruit that ripens on
untended vines, the mailman walking by, the
old farmer just staring from his run-down shed,
the cars running favors all along the way. The
only highway out of here is silence, really.
On the front of that building, they've mounted a
false owl - something supposing to keep pigeons
away, I guess. But I don't know. When those buses
disgorge their people, it's all Elk and Moose lodge
types who filter blindly into the hotel lunchroom.
So, apparently, they've got nothing against animals,
per se. They're wiser than that, it seems.
I do kind of love that truncated feeling of things
cut short. Like a life : the fourteen year old dead
while hiking, or canoeing. The parents of that kid
are still wearing black. My heart goes out to them,
but Dr. DeBakey I'm not. He was the heart transplant
guy, from long ago, South Africa or someplace.
If I could give them mine, I probably would.