“Where will I be When I go back home?
Who will I see When I’m all alone?
And What’ll I do?”
–David Crosby, from “Where Will I be?”
The main I’ve heard
Is that people want a partner
“So I don’t die alone”
umm, I Embrace, Tho’ waste, my own time.
At the end of all my nights
I might had been clean & clever enough
For her to had laughed, and had left
Her hand on my thigh
As I wait down the night sky
Toughening up for day.
flying things instinctively know
to dry out their wings, first,
to try out their wings, & go.
surfacing a splendid splash,
surviving a fearful fall and crash,
take time off to dry off &
shake off the surprise of failure.
wake up and walk off what,
and where you are
before you forget to prepare for it
all to dare
the first time, again.
. (FROM 2009)
There’s wait then it’s takes eight hands to handle a casket
There’s swearing at yr insides/ & for authorities
There’s wait when you take yr few dreams to task
Then sweating out all yr insides before authenticity
“the inevitability of
heart death and heart soar and heart sick and heart ache..”
It could be worst
When I would hear
It from good sources,
Maybe a back-alley liar.
His last words.
Not a sliver as clever as Wilde,
But ever so slightly, absolutely abstract & absurd
His last words
Might all have been, “I’ve waited. Awhile.
All night. Save dawn. I’ve waited. Until
Watching was silly.
No cues came. No signs sang.
No news hit the front porch.
I waited & watched.
I still wait for bell rang.
I still hold a torch.
It’s more than coincidence how
That “pillow” rhymes/w “shadow”.
If I had to,
& the sense to know,
I’d set dark dreams aside.
If I lied some, & thought things
As tied up,
I’d fake it some, I’d hope
For a wide enough break,
& loose rope,
& in this broken cup
I hold my spirits up.
.Heraclitus: “. the essence of things has the habit to hide”
“Very little grows on jagged rock/Be grounded/Be crumbled/
So wildflowers will come up” -Rumi
(from years ago)