CELESTIAL EMENDATIONS
There's got to be some of that,
like the frost-light of a 17th street
loft shining out in otherwise dark,
black night; yes, even here. I hold
this pencil in my hand, but nothing
happens. Two taxis try to idle.
-
A wasted life that amounts to a
broken jaw and a bruised shin;
maybe that's the highest summation
of a Humankind's quest? They can
have it. No more promises for me.
-
I roamed until there was no more
roaming, and I roomed until the rooms
were all gone : hotels of note, and
fleabag places of nothing at all.
The desk manager just stares.
Can't figure me out.
-
John Ashbury pulled my daisy? No,
that's so incorrect. And what did
Ferlinghetti leave behind but ashes?
(no, that's too direct). Let us enumerate:
-
Bells for the wagon; worms for the hook;
Everything we walk with are but things
we took. I found that never answering for
anything is the probably best that can be
done. Celestial emendations are more fun.
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