Wind’s jogging smell of fresh cut grass,
Competing when lonely against sleeping authority,
Long-haired eyesight and stranger’s loud music,
An inability to subordinate time’s expression of disbelief,
Openness doing nothing in emotion’s desert,
Artfully walking down love’s empty streets, and
Driving nowhere into drunken sunsets of weeping willows
Are the out-of-place remnants of my life.
April 1976
No comments:
Post a Comment