NOT BEING THE ONE
Well anyway, nothing fell from the
sky today, or it if did it didn't hit me.
I wasn't in Montauk, but it might as
well be. I was here and there. Man.
Together. My fashionings of that
slip-dimension feeling sent me
onward. From the nearby, broken,
Ikea lot, I watched the Newark
jets come overhead. Never spoke
a word, just talked. A real place for
cripples, that is. Ramps leading
everywhere, except up or down;
people eating wallops of food in
a sit-and-frown position, watching
jets come in overhead. It's a pretty
mean scene with the mark of a mission.
-
Not being the one doesn't mean you're
the other : I'm a sheep-herder,
I'm not a shepherd.
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