15,590. BARRELHOUSE ECHOES

BARRELHOUSE ECHOES

Elephants in broad-back shoes!

Monkeys taunting each other

along braided ropes and vines!

Things never seen before in

Graner Gardens. It was as if

a circus was in town. Then,

of course, there was young

Millie Mober, who said she's

lived here all her life, and had

'never seen the likes of this

before! What a time of living!'

-

I had to laugh. I thought to 

myself how it must have been

like this when the first movies

came to town. Did they open

theatres for the townsfolk with

no explanations at all? Someone

had to know what was about

to unfold.

-

Life is funny like that  -  progress

roars us down and we cannot do

a thing about it. Others use the

name of good to propagate their

ways and ideas. They get all the

gain and glory, and we get left

with the mess.

15,589. ATLANTIC CITY

ATLANTIC CITY

I brushed my hand off the

table and gave the man back

my cards. They had turned to

stone-cuttings in my hands and

were too heavy to play. The

wizened old guy said nothing,

but he sneered as I turned them

in. If there was a parable here

to be had, I'd hoped I'd have

seen it in play.

-

The silence was of a deafening

kind, and the guy kept staring

me down  -  I wanted to leave

but felt drilled into place. There

were others around me  -  two 

women from Mars, and a man

with a fat-tipped cigar. The

bouncer at the doorway there

looked like Fizzle McGee, so

I hoped he had no designs 

on me!

-

Funny how it is when you

feel out of place. I never play

cards (usually) and this felt

completely abstract - on its 

face like something I should

never have done. Atlantic

City, here's my gun! Atlantic

City, you're no fun!

15,588. NUMBERS LIKE A TRIAD

NUMBERS LIKE A TRIAD

Spending plenty of time in

deliberation, a few things 

have become clear : We 

are never alone in this life, 

and all appearances are 

 merely momentary 

apparitions. 

-

That may not sound like

much, but it's the truth. The

violet that blooms on the

fence knows the truth of 

its matter and is not taken

in. Flowers must enjoy

their brief time.

15,587. I ASKED

I ASKED 

I asked the old lady I was

watching what it was she

sought. She said 'I would 

like five of those free tomatoes

in the library's free-food bin.'

Saving her the steps, I went

and got them for her. It was

too easy not too. She was

grateful, and smiled at me.

-

Nearby, a man was browsing 

books, and the librarians at the

counter were busy  -  making

change, and fiddling on their

computers. The change was

for the 'Used Books - Sale!',

and the computers? Well, that's

just the way things go today.

I wonder, how many years

before 'paper' is no longer

within our daily vocabulary.

15,586. WORTHLESS

WORTHLESS

Who has given up in the Quagmire?

Hopefully no one; once surrendered,

there's no going back, as the quicksand

will soon tickle your throat. Don't laugh

back at fate.

-

The flowers of Summer are fading; 

the old dirt road is not mud.

15,585. TRIPOLI

TRIPOLI

I reached that end of the divide,

where the valley bows to the

towering hills. There was nothing

really left  -  the table had been

overturned and the sky was less

than nil, for this is where the

world diminished : Purple haze,

or purple rain, I could never

tell the difference. Libya to

Lebanon, they each laid claim

to the quite-same name.

-

Whatever divides at a point like

this stays divided for ever. I 

ordered a tar-black coffee in

some freeman's sad cafe. He 

was wearing his long robe, as he 

brought my tray. Calling me a

Kafir, I didn't yet understand. 

He bowed and walked off.

-

Later I learned of my error, from

the Paris guy at another table. He

had not said Kafir, rather just

Taqiyah  -  no insult at all. He

was requesting that I, perhaps,

should wear a hat.

15,584. I GO FORWARD

I GO FORWARD

I can't remember the vagaries of

this mess, though I turn pages and 

keep looking. But what is this book

I keep? Shadows and spectres haunt.

No gold in the world can ever redeem

this hurt. I go forward.

-

Here is the gaunt factory-man who

worked his deadly hours making

auto-parts for Sunday-mechanics

and noontime Masons. Nothing now

but spills of oil on the pavement.

They sink in, eventually absorbed,

but they never disappear. No mere

scouring will ever get them out.

-

You wish to hear me more? I am

a saint in an evil cloak  -  I can

give you my number, but I don't

have a phone. I close the very

windows at dawn, to keep the

miserable daylight out.

15,583. MEMORIAL

MEMORIAL

Tithings from some silly church,

and a greeting from the Honesdale

Bank. I wonder if it's the branch

bank, or the main one? They're

only some two miles apart.

-

People get adamant over things 

like that. 'I'm not walking downtown,

I need a branch in the Plaza. next to

Dunkin', and next to MacDonald's.

It shouldn't matter to them, I just

want convenience.' 

-

So they saunter in, with their checks

and deposits. I see the young kid, with

his Mom, just ahead of me. He just

got his license and has purchased a

car  -  used, nothing special, but to

him it's his world. Mom's guiding

him along, but to her it's nothing

of any special import. 

-

She turns to me, and says, 'I just hope

he'll be safe; you know how kids can

get, with a car.' I wanted to say, 'Why

you telling me? I didn't get my license

until I was 19, and could not have cared

less. Tell him to move to the city; you

don't even need a car.'

-

The Dollar Store has just opened for

business; another day, another dollar?

15,582. THE AFTERNOON I LOST MY MIND

THE AFTERNOON I LOST MY MIND

I admit to having gone crazy. My dormant

TV has not been turned on in three months.

I miss nothing. Even the cable-guy, visiting

here to replace my router, commented on

my stillness and calm compared to what the

records show. He marked me down as 'cured.'

-

As soon as he left, I burned the TV up; I

doused it outside with gasoline and flipped

the match  -  as if I was burning my trash or

some paper. The angel spoke to me and said,

'This is how we prompt creativity, by sending

you out with irrational urges.' I accepted that.

-

Who am I to argue with Divinity?

15,581. YOU MAY NOT

YOU MAY NOT

You may not any longer ask

about me, or question my being.

Like legions before me, I will be

gone. The race is to the swift, as

is said, and I'm a real fleet-foot

now. Names pile up  -  the dead

wander. Aimless, like granules of

sugar on a too-sweet dumpling.

15,580. HINELINE ACRES

HINELINE ACRES 

Distressed and battered, I grow

distraught : fences are broken 

and the horses run free. I need 

to chase them down? The local

firehouse is still cleaning up

from a Pulled Pork festival two

days before. Across the street, the

lady is selling expensive pies. I

can't figure this life out, as much

as I try. I tremble before God, but

it seems to do not much good. 

-

Why do people go where they go?

And how do they match their own

intentions to that which they end

up doing? My friend George said

he won three-hundred dollars on

his scratch-off lottery five-dollar

ticket. But he admits, it probably

has cost him five-hundred to do it.

-

I haven't seen a factory smokestack

in three years. I consider that a real

achievement, seeing as how they 

used to be everywhere. No smoke,

no bother. It's an easy life in the

country lanes.

15,579. WAITING

WAITING

I would not have learned how soil 

works were I not a worm. One must

always look on the bright side of things.

The curvature of the Earth? I would

not have learned of that had I not

been a Portuguese sailor on the wild

and open sea. Nor an astronaut, now

viewing the same from the Moon?

Every item of what we live is

precious. Or should become so.

As I lie awake at night, awaiting

my sleep, I think of a thousand

things. The sound of a flutter,

must that always mean a fly?

Something on the ceiling, now

becoming atrocious to me?

15,578. JUSTIN TYME

JUSTIN TYME

The man who built the Mohabir

has now gone on to other things:

It turns out so wildly to be so. His

other name was Ratlango.

-

His mother came from Rangoon,

and his father was a British servant.

Royal Navy, and all that stuff. Thet

settled off near Goa. Now the swarms

of glpbal tourists come each year, over

and over again  -  and he owns a new

fortune in restaurants and hotels.

-

There are countless religious principals

involved in Indian life, from Delhi to

Kolkata (I still can't not say Calcutta),

everything is covered and the task of

a daily survival now is to get it right.

-

The Ganges survives its own filthy

crowd. Wading and walking and wailing.

Outside the temples, the funeral pyres

burn.

15,577. NEVER MIND

NEVER MIND

Never mind the double-time

tremolo of this life; it only kills

you in the end. We are but one

moment, mostly flagrant in our

derelictions of duty too. The tides

that run, most usually, find ways

to run around us  -  blocked by

this or that, one thing or another,

the waters take a detour and

never reach us.

-

It all adds up, and stacks, in the

end. High piles of malfeasance,

avoidances and mistakes. The

letter of the law seems perfect

in our retrospect: 'He lived his

good life, and then he was thru.'

Which (oh hail modern day!)

works equally as well for use of

'women' too. 'She lived a good

life, and then she was thru!'

15,576. ANGELIC IN LIFE

ANGELIC IN LIFE

Someone who wishes to paper

the walls with dreams. That could

be me; as the sun sets here  -  pink

sky towards the end of the west. I

was there once too. Too many sorts

of maneuvers for that other sea.

Well, ocean.

-

How come we always seek? Too

many tales of origination we need

to consider? An apple a day keeps

the doctor away; except in the

Garden of Eden, I say.

15,575. ROUGH MORNING

 ROUGH MORNING

Fog and chill, too much cream in

the coffee, it looks too light, the 

papers go on and on about a dead 

Queen and new King? I thought

we undid all that crap long ago.

What's it mean?

-

The guy I know on the corner was

talking about opening a rental-crown

center. Like' Queen For A Day', back

in the 1950's  -  some loser show in

which that would happen.

-

The significance of everything these

days is seemingly significant for ten

minutes. Not even fifteen. All those

dead 'Patriots' we're supposed to 'revere'

(just like Paul), now they too dwindle

to nothing. The Queen is dead. Long

live the Queen?

-

It's respite, and this sick country

loves respites  - all that other crap will

be off the front pages for 5 or 6 days.

And all those endless talking heads

with babble on  -  gracious under

pressure, youngest Queen ever,

oldest Queen dead, Blah. Blah.

-

It's OK if one's a Brit, I suppose.

In my case, no matter, insubstantial,

with no pose. The Queen is dead.

Long live the Queen! (I never

understood what that was meant

to mean).

15,574. THE PATH TO GLORY

THE PATH TO GLORY

I think that everyone takes it.

There aren't any detours, and

it's on everyone's way. The glare

from the streetlamp perhaps it

confirms.

-

Anyway, that was when I used 

to live in cities. Now I don't, and

now I find that the same path to

glory resides in stillness. Not in

streets or house numbers. We

really have none of them.

-

Dirt paths eventually done over

in stone. Cars waltzing by, logging

trucks and carnival madmen driving

their wagons. Yeah man, it's now a

different world.

-

To ask the guy in the farmyard what

he's doing, that makes no sense. I

already know  -  as I approach. His

name is Phil, and he's tinkering with

that ancient tractor again. He's got

two of them. They are his path to

glory.

15,573. KINNELON

 KINNELON

I'd broken my arm on the plow,

trimming these god-damned acres.

Everything that grows grows three

times over  -  rain, drought, blight

or flash-flood, no matter.

-

The river chucks it all up.

-

I'd lost my oxen in the big flood.

That was two years back. Now these

stupid mules won't budge.

15,572. HOW THIS HAPPENS, EITHER WAY

HOW THIS HAPPENS, 

EITHER WAY

The sky at sundown makes me think

of tomorrow. The sky in the morning

makes me think of today. Maybe that's

backwards, but that's my way. I've

always been a little askew.

-

There's no drama in the drumbeat

of my heart  -   relentless and steady,

the same peal is heard. Not that I

listen to any of that. I give it its due,

don't get me wrong, but the moments

for romance are over. I just look

away.

-

The stage lights may be on, but the

actions have left the camera, the

audience seats are empty, and  -  

God forbid  -  at the very end the

actors are forgetting their lines!

15,571. A SOLDIER OF THE GREAT WAR

A SOLDIER OF THE GREAT WAR

He was a soldier of 'The Great War,'

as if such could be; his men called

him Little Dibble. No one knew why.

It had just been a name that stuck.

He towered, actually, and there was

nothing little about him. Those long

back boots, military jodhpur pants,

that combat hat that almost looked

silly. He swatted flies with what

appeared to be a walking stick, yet

had a fluff upon it of some military

sig-nif-i-cance. With him, everything

was a cadence.

-

He was old when I knew him, very.

Already haggard and way past any

prime, I don't think he even had the

good sense any longer to know where

he was. Ypres? Some battlefield of

the Marne?  Sitting in a straight-back

chair, he couldn't slouch if it was

demanded of him. Everything was

a cadence, yes.

15,570. EITHER TAMERLANE THE GREAT OR TAMERLANE THE NOT SO GREAT

EITHER  TAMERLANE THE GREAT

OR TAMERLANE THE NOT SO GREAT

One great history deserves another. You

can decide. The kids around the candy

store used to pick through the magazines.

Not so, anymore. They'll all got phones

and get their history straight.

-

Their mothers, probably all dead now,

knew nothing of this  -  pilferage, dirty

magazines, stealing looks and candy both.

How is that such a world turned us out?

-

Boisterous to the metal, we were loud.

Everyone's Dad was always at work. In 

the dark, Winter evenings, they'd drive

home in their vintage cars  -  avoiding

our snow mounds and iced-over puddles.

Few words were exchanged, but it was

time to go inside. One great history 

deserves another : You can decide.

15,569. CAPTIVATE THE MINESHAFT

CAPTIVATE THE MINESHAFT

I used to tell people that I knew

my wife back when she was still

wearing undershirts. It was a joke,

but only gotten by maybe one in

five. Meant we were kids together.

Get it? Then I asked here, later,

where she got those bumps in her

sweater; some store I'd maybe

not heard of? Yeah, yeah, things

got better. A real comedian, me.

15,568. BRAVERMAN TRINKETS

BRAVERMAN TRINKETS

As a Yeshiva student I took all

my eating days as they came - 

some were better than others.

Yes. Rukelsky's challah and

chicken broth, superb, even

anytime; while Gernstein's 

old food was but scraps 

thrown back to me; as I

suffered in silence.

-

What else does a student

Jew do? Is it not the lot of

our people? At the other end

of the same ridiculous scale, the

goys at Coney Island drove me

mad. Home was read strikes and

and union labels, all else trayf, 

and it was everywhere. 

-

The East Broadway vendor carts

that led me to Grand Street? Samr

thing, as I walked  -  the luscious

watermelon slivers, ice cream dabbled

on a bit of paper, an ear of corn from

a steaming kettle, sprinkled heavy

with salt and butter, roasted chestnuts

from blackened in ovens over burning

charcoals, and hard-sugar candy with

its coating of blazing red.

15,567. IT'S NOT 'HAVE YOU EVER'

IT'S NOT 'HAVE YOU EVER'

More than that it's 'Why did you?'

The finger holds the pen, but the

table holds the paper  -  we write

in a shiftless hand the messages

only we wish to see.

-

I'm in a pickle here : this little

town I live near, a quandary of

miles off, is being tortured. The

real estate members proudly

boast, 'I can sell this, and I can

sell that.' To watch their little

videos is a regular monster trip.

-

On the one hand, they pose a

history-page for the stalwart

members' viewing  -  about

all that's now gone and how

wonderful it was. Yet, they

finger and try to sell any

quadrant they can find  -  to

build upon, or pave or 

otherwise change hands.

-

I don't get it; it's all for fortunes

they can boast about while they

destroy the place they live? Is

there no conscience that speaks

back to them? It's said money

is the root of all evil; well,

perhaps. But what's worse is 

an empty soul, with no awareness

of what it's doing while serving

false Gods and dragging others

along. Strange ride indeed.

15,566. TRUMBLE HAS A HAMMOCK

 TRUMBLE HAS A HAMMOCK

Which he sleeps in all day. Dire

weather, fog or rain do not deter.

It's pleasant for him like that.

-

How he does it, I do not know.

Why he does it either: I remember

him once selling apples along the

side of the road.

-

Some ridiculous price, like 10 cents

each. He sat in a chair back then,

just watching everything pass by.

People waved, the few there were,

and he waved back to everyone.

-

Now Trumble has a hammock all

day, in which he sleeps his life away!

15,565. HARI-KARI

HARI-KARI

When Yukio Mishima did it, I thought

it was cool  -  a ritual disembowelment

of self by saber to protest the changing

conditions. My goodness, not that's a

commitment! 

-

It was late 1970, and I wasn't sure 

of words  -  we called it one thing in 

America, and the Japanese had other

words for it. No matter; in front of

his followers he gave it all up, even

as it all went wrong.

-

With friends like that, who needs

enemies? With an enemy of one's

self, who needs friends?

15,564. PERPENDICULAR SLIPFRAME

PERPENDICULAR SLIPFRAME 

All the houses are unsettled; things

lean, other things topple. The soil,

now turned to mud, no longer knows

itself, and cannot hold the loads. 

-

What capacity has been passed? Was

it a cosmic limit of push and pull

that we neglected to remember?

This planet has its limits too?

-

Everywhere I turn, someone new is

muttering something about the heat

or the death of life. In concept, it all

might be OK, but in line for donuts

and coffee, burgers and fries, does

it not seem a bit out of place?

15,563. HEMINGWAY HELD THE RECORD?

HEMINGWAY HELD THE RECORD?

For what, I wonder? Not any present-day

marvel, him. Too old-fashioned now, and

with all the griping and guilt, and Boom!

the damned bullet. Rumors swirl, but 

I don't listen.

-

The eyeglass counter today, as usual, 

had no one there; just the same two bored 

girls who always sit idly by  -  hoping for 

someone to come around and have their

vision checked. A half-mile from the

book-rack; I couldn't read anyway.

-

Pulp and junk, rock stars and movie bios.

A how-to book about firearms preservation.

15,562. RUDIMENTS, pt.1,296

RUDIMENTS, pt.1,296

(I'm quite tired of the routine)

I always used to think about

what people took away from

everyday 'culture'  -  as most

Americans would call it anyway.

It seemed to me that not very

much sunk in; they just gobbled

it all up as it was doled out to

them, and without much of

any discernment or second 

thought. Whatever was given

out, presented, was taken by

the mass and engulfed; I don't

think anyone ever really stopped

and thought things over.

-

As a for instance, sometime

about 1966, one of the Beatles'

songs that got tons of public

airplay (I can't remember

exactly, but 1966 seems right),

was called  'We Can Work It

Out.' As I reviewed that song,

it seemed to me that it was

about the most passive-aggressive

song that ever was, but no one

even blinked. If you read the

lyrics, they only resound with

domination, but in the guise of

a 'view' of compromise and

agreement. But it's the complete

opposite. This smarmy guy

speaking wants things done

one way, his and only. In the

false front of compromise. It's

domineering and really controlling,

and I wondered, by the lyrics,

if anyone ever really thought it

through. Apparently not. It, to

me, mostly brought to mind the

same cruddy politics of Lyndon

Johnson, President at the time,

who was always backing off

from deeper engagement in

Vietnam (pious bullshit platitudes),

by saying one thing while deepening

the engagement; controlling the

situation with all his 'Come, let us

reason together' crap. It was very

murderous and was churning up

young men left and right. I was

angry over that and knew I wanted

nothing to do with it.

-

Some people perfectly inhabit that

sort of Beatles' song ethic  -  pushing

and demanding their way, while at

the same time pretending by words

to have only the most sincere and

pleasant intentions of agreement

and compromise. It only makes things

worse, and now, some 50 years later,

it's all come to the fore in the likes

of the mass-emphasis of correctness

and 'feeling' for others, while at the

same time pushing forward a demanding

agenda of 'properly' dictated attitudes

and mouthing platitudes, as if we were

all Bullshit Presidents, about Freedom,

Choice, Diversity, and Care. It's all

the worst sham in the world and we

are no better nor any different, than

Russia or China  -  our means and

approaches may differ, and be softer,

but what we live amongst is a well-

schooled environment of indoctrination,

mind-control, and rote rigidity to NOT

stepping or speaking out of line.

-

I for one am quite already tired of it,

and the people I see doing it make me

froth. We are forced to accept the

droopy opinions of lackluster minions;

the desert-sand outbursts of people in

control of out entertainment, food,

medical and pharmaceutical industries,

and it's all jammed down our throats

in the names of freedom, choice, and

some new form of fat and feeble

diversity that allows disgusting people

to take control, to ride to the top, and

be used as ammunition for the

insidious, in-our-face, relentless

drive toward acceptance and 

sameness. I accept none of it, and

I'm quite tired of the routine.

-

Essentially, as a nation, we've now

bankrupted ourselves, through debt,

fake money, inflated values, coinage,

prices and rhetoric. There's not a one

in public arenas who speaks the truth

and forthrightly calls anyone out. It

all, instead, just rolls along through

payoffs, deals, buy-outs, theft,

dishonesty, mental pilferage, lies,

and complete dishonesty. TV's talking

faces are simply disgusting. Why?

Much like that song, no one stops

to really listen, or think about what's

going down? In 1966, a savage

nation of mutants was allowed,

through advertising, to drink and

smoke itself to death, to laugh at

foibles and eccentricities, poking

fun at Jose Jimenez, as it were. Now

a person would be dead for doing

that. That sort of humor lies dead

on the floor, yet we suffer the new

concealment of catering now to the

lowest. We've slowed down the

efficient train for the least among

us, which may have some weird

sort of Biblical-injunction correctness,

but which, as a society and as a

ruling governance is nothing but

deadly and which makes a lie of

everything America once stood for,

or was pretended to stand for.

-

People today little understand what

1966 was like. I face death now,

everyday, but in 1966, in my own

18-year-old maturation, I faced

death too  -  at the hands of the

same insincere, bullshit politicians

who sent ignorant boys off to

Vietnam to cover their political

deceit and lies. No one will ever

know how many young lives were

twisted and deformed because of

that  -  and I don't mean the ones

who went. I mean me; among those

who stayed, and fought back, and

said to the man 'This is bullshit!'

We're all victims of that. And it's

only now gotten much, much worse.

Crooked, demented, groveling

political types controlling the new

masses through conceit, theft, lies,

disinformation, and money.

15,561. JOHNNY MAGAZINE

JOHNNY MAGAZINE

Inside a hidden magazine, inside

the dark corners of pages, endless

squalor and want. I have closed

this notebook now forever. The

dove, watching me from a short

distance, doesn't quite know

what to make of what is seen.

-

Johnny Magazine, oh listen now

to me. My books are burned, and

only embers remain, but the words

in smoke now tell a different story.

What you can write can never 

equal what I have said.

-

Some men leave chalk circles on

the sidewalks where they have 

lived; others mark their rooming 

houses with paint and semblances. 

I've been an orphan all these days,

with nothing to leave but nothing.

15,560. LONNY LINK

LONNY LINK

Lonny Link on Labor Day.

I read the sign not knowing.

It's a train ride through the

woods : something on the

order of novelty, and it runs

with a huff along the river.

-

My friend Rodney now works

at Dave's. It's a small store for

groceries where  -  instead of

working there  -  he used to

just sit outside, at the bench,

drinking beer. A sort of regular.

-

Attendance was great, so they 

finally asked him in! Now, with

his hair cut and his old beard

trimmed, he services the shelves,

moving cans and such around.

A nice, simple-man's job for,

he says, 8 bucks an hour, maybe

24 hours a four-day week. It's

not his cup of tea, but he has

some bills to pay.

-

I stumbled onto him, by accident,

when he called out my name. I

was walking past the aisle where

he was rearranging soups. Just

outside, the old trains rumbled

slowly along.

15,559. THE CASEWORKERS

THE CASEWORKERS

Bureaucrats tend to alleviate

the pain they think they see.

Checkboards and boxes, please

fill this out (for the umpteenth 

time). I was watching one

today.

-

If their world runs by mere

formula, what is it they do

actually see? Need I wonder?

It's not me.

-

I sense another time and place,

far from them, and they do not

understand me. Outside of only

riddles, they understand nothing

of my world. Capricious and

whimsical as it is.

-

Fitting no categories, I let them

stew. They stare at their phones,

and drink their lousy drinks, while

I wander away oblivious to any

of the reality they may think.

Life is another matter to me.

15,558. MAKING THE MOST OF NOTHING

MAKING THE MOST OF NOTHING

Tremulous understatement, and the

world says nothing back. The moronic

lines of bestiality are growing. In places

once exalted, now the President mumbles

lies; twisting the exactitude of precision

completely on its head; as if it wasn't

He and They who are changing the

nation beyond belief. It's easier to

spin the lie to the camera's eye.

- 

I have nothing material to say until

the big-break comes. The auction site

that comes to me is having a Labor-Day

knives and whittling sale. If they only

knew the need. If they only knew.

15,557. GOD PROVIDES

GOD PROVIDES

You make much of nothing,

Henderson; I will let that pass. 

I'm not a one to argue with you,

nor do I care for your conclusions;

take them elsewhere, please.

-

I register my fine complaint

within your household-heart.

Consider this not a carping,

just instead a minor note. To

much of nothing gives a man

a faint.

-

Consider the lilies of the field,

or the birds...as someone has

put it. They neither toil nor

labor. But God provides.

15,556. I TIRE

I TIRE 

Sometimes, but not much.

Mostly I keep going. The

evening tide of the human 

ride I know is soon upon

me, but where I go is where

I get, I guess. Now is not a

time to rue my fate.

-

The Winter has winds that

still await : blowing forth

the aggression and the snow.

I will sit and wait. I will

not go.