Okay, the poem below is kind of melancholy. it creeps up on me sometimes.
But I'm really happy at the moment. I love everything, even the night train passing on 21st street and the Carolina bbq pork sandwich I had for a late snack.
Make me a waterway
enough to float on, and I'm gone
like an earthquake
not felt
until over.
In my imagination you're always planting
but the trees fail through neglect
and the crows keep going
in great haste and dismay.
What do you want from me
that you won't allow
me to want in return?
There's nothing but an apple
in my bag and an onion
sprouting on the shelf.
They were for soup, but I fasted.
Make me wildland, or watergrass,
and give me tides, and I'll get lost
in the sifting, in distance.
I'd like to spot the Merlin
turning its head in your tree
rather than flying
over midtown on my own
and roosting by the tracks.
Ultimately I have many regrets
which are a type of wealth
or demanding pet that can't be strutted
or invested.
And a box of poems, worth nothing
they won't cut the mustard
they won't buy land
they are only things
I remember from passing.
With a few old scars.
I just want to write you a letter, saying:
I've never known such cold water,
I've never been so thrilled.
for R.
***************************************************************************
I'm trying to makeup my mind whether to move to Washington or stay here.
About a month ago I was totally in favor of moving.
But I've had second thoughts.
I think I ought to delay that until I've kicked a little more ass around here.
It's kind of a now-or-never situation for me. Not the move, necesarrily, but my life in general.
I can hold out for a while longer but it won't be that long before I have to make more money than I'm making right now.
That will be easier here than it would in rural Washington.
I just called the guy who was my best friend from 1965 until 1995. he wasn't home. haven't talked to him in ten years now. We had a bit of a falling-out over religion. meaning he got some and I didn't. I got a little tired of arguing whether the Grand Canyon was millions of years or a few thousand years old.
Now, we're behaving like a couple of bachelor farmers fueding over a pound of onions.
He's a Norwegian and I'm a Finn and from what I read this is perfectly normal behavior. In this case research is backed up by observation.
But at this point I'm for reconciliation.
Speaking of the Pope, why doesn't the church let Popes retire? They go for years at a time with infirm and barely-functional leadership. Not that he's a bad guy, but he should have been on a rocking chair drinking port and pinching nurses for the past few years.
We'd all be a lot better off if that were the case.
But I'm really happy at the moment. I love everything, even the night train passing on 21st street and the Carolina bbq pork sandwich I had for a late snack.
Make me a waterway
enough to float on, and I'm gone
like an earthquake
not felt
until over.
In my imagination you're always planting
but the trees fail through neglect
and the crows keep going
in great haste and dismay.
What do you want from me
that you won't allow
me to want in return?
There's nothing but an apple
in my bag and an onion
sprouting on the shelf.
They were for soup, but I fasted.
Make me wildland, or watergrass,
and give me tides, and I'll get lost
in the sifting, in distance.
I'd like to spot the Merlin
turning its head in your tree
rather than flying
over midtown on my own
and roosting by the tracks.
Ultimately I have many regrets
which are a type of wealth
or demanding pet that can't be strutted
or invested.
And a box of poems, worth nothing
they won't cut the mustard
they won't buy land
they are only things
I remember from passing.
With a few old scars.
I just want to write you a letter, saying:
I've never known such cold water,
I've never been so thrilled.
for R.
***************************************************************************
I'm trying to makeup my mind whether to move to Washington or stay here.
About a month ago I was totally in favor of moving.
But I've had second thoughts.
I think I ought to delay that until I've kicked a little more ass around here.
It's kind of a now-or-never situation for me. Not the move, necesarrily, but my life in general.
I can hold out for a while longer but it won't be that long before I have to make more money than I'm making right now.
That will be easier here than it would in rural Washington.
I just called the guy who was my best friend from 1965 until 1995. he wasn't home. haven't talked to him in ten years now. We had a bit of a falling-out over religion. meaning he got some and I didn't. I got a little tired of arguing whether the Grand Canyon was millions of years or a few thousand years old.
Now, we're behaving like a couple of bachelor farmers fueding over a pound of onions.
He's a Norwegian and I'm a Finn and from what I read this is perfectly normal behavior. In this case research is backed up by observation.
But at this point I'm for reconciliation.
Speaking of the Pope, why doesn't the church let Popes retire? They go for years at a time with infirm and barely-functional leadership. Not that he's a bad guy, but he should have been on a rocking chair drinking port and pinching nurses for the past few years.
We'd all be a lot better off if that were the case.
In my current mood and devil-may-care attitude, I would probably just pick up and move to rural Washington. But I'm not sure you should listen to me ... I have had a lot of fun, but not much success, so it depends on what you're into.
While I am going up north in just 2 short weeks, I'm not sure if I'm going through Sacramento. I'm not sure I'm not either, to tell you the truth. I just don't even know how you drive up the entire state of California, having never done it before. The furthest I made it north previously was the American River, and a town called Colfax. That was, however, almost 28 years ago.
The coast has so many wonderful sites and while I don't have an itinerary, I would probably vote to visit Marin County or at least have a drive through ... one of my best memories in life involves me driving through the Presidio in San Francisco, in a rented convertible with my 22 year old son, who was then only 5 years old. We had the music on really loud, the Beatles first album, and I sang lead (badly) while Steve sang harmony. It was really amazing that he could pick out the harmony part at 5 but I guess that should have been my first clue about his musical talent.
Thanks for having me over for a visit ... I realize once again, even describing what I have never done, that I did lead a very charmed life. For that I am grateful.
Have a good evening!