A Future If We Dare
'All that we are not stares back at what we are.' - W. H. Auden
A birthplace came back: the homeland image.
I'd left, but escapism is fiction,
when the mind is born to stand on one place
of history. Feet are nomads (independent)
on the bottom of bodies. They grasp their
own agendas, staying fixed upon the lights
of ones viewpoint; the city which resides behind the
eyes: cleftnotes rising from said cities.
There is a future and a sentimental projection,
Each one is the hard side and soft side of life,
The gazebo, ...
Motel Clerk: Dusk
So much, so little under
the barometer of lonely light;
waves have hit a silence,
before the morning grasping, and just
after the sun gets up
(reminding me of an O’Hara poem)
intractable, through the hidden fury