....Collected Poems...of Wayne Noone
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_______________________________________________________ Off in the Distance Each man is the bard of his own existence. -- Cormac McCarthy He tells the story of his life in his own mind because that is all he has, awareness like the wake of a waterbug across a green pool, the tracing lines giving the appearance of something larger, but never touching the depths. His life begins at four with the sound of the clock. He can remember turning it off and making the bed, but of his actual rising he has no recollection. He stands to urinate with the heel of his hand pressed against the same spot so the paint has worn like the handprints painted on those ancient caves. He sits with his coffee in a chair covered with terrycloth to hold in the foam, watches the streetlight reflect off the cars in the lot outside. After his shower he stands behind the house in the dark, feeling the July heat still held in the concrete with his bare feet, smokes as the rabbits bolt and jump beneath the crabapple trees. He goes to his work. In the evening he toasts two slices of bread and opens a can of sardines. He places the filets with a fork and drizzles a little olive oil from the can upon the bread. He cuts the sandwich with a butter knife on the square, the way his mother did. There is no love without distance And space is pain And the ground thereof All of us captured, surrounded All of us angels, angels Watching the lightning flash from east to west Waiting for the Son of Man Who is forever a wanderer With no place on this earth _______________________________________________________ .............. Return To Other Poets This site sponsered by 
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