Memories Don't Mean
Much
In the distance the hills
looked like scrota wrapped
in clouds breathing like
they had never. Old Jorge
was weeping ten yards away.
His wife had died. I felt
like saying so. But did not.
And wept for my friend. I
was after peace that time
of my life. And it wasn't
coming. My daughter grew
up, left with an old man,
then called to say she had
gotten a divorce and was
living then in Illinois.
I felt like saying so. But
did not. And wished a fine
life near Chi. Her mom
hadn't called once since
she found 'true' love with
the neighbor. I always
thought that lady seemed
nice. Anyway, back to hills.
And scrota. And old Jorge.
He never did remarry. Ate
a lot of food. Cried each
day about his wife and their
van and how the steering gave
out. How she was unbuckled
and shot her face through
the windshield. And how
the statie lectured him.
--------------------------
A Stupendous Day
Walking Mars, the hills,
to find a lost treasure.
This part of PA is full
of salt licks and trees.
I never found gold, but
got lost. On some road
where no cars passed. It
was a Sunday morning and
the natives were in bed.
Did find my love, the sun
that morning rose, quiet
was surrounded by a glow,
and the warmth made me
see that ambitions should
be simple. All at once
nothing happened. Then
I knew that nothing would
ever happen to a man who
does wish it. Found home.
Found breakfast. Found
time left on a day that
should be used to reflect.
On time. About weather
and other non-happenings.
---------------------
Two Who Never Wrote About Love
The blue, he thought, is the discovery
of studs in your ego. He thought these
thoughts all the time. My story is not
owned by Roget. But manufactured with
the techniques of counseling in mind.
His girl lived across the county. She
worked in a dept. store. One of the new
budget ones. She conceived, love and
justice on earth is like an angler. At
times he never catches a thing. Souls
matter. Though. Desertlands are always
in other places. John was again
thinking
over two by fours, I am only a
mind. I
never do anything unless it's considered
work. But should I marry her? Or build
her up some more? Laura lived above.
A library. And worked in it. Two worlds
consumed in books had quieted her over
her twenty years after menstruation. He
did not know this. John knew he did not
know many things. Even though he
thought
them. Watts scared me anyway, he
mustered,
and I think I think too much. John left
her. Even though he did not move. Laüra
left John. Even though she did not
move.
