Strange how the events of a life, once so stratified, shift like pieces of glass, evolving into a memory not of conflict but of harmony.
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Strolling down Thayer Street in the early morning,
Amy’s dogged by that constant thought –
can you really start a life over?
Leaving the waters of the worried. The firmament to bring light, to plough the earth and perish
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Troubled Young Man fears that he is disconnecting from reality due to his newfound ability to reference and cross-reference everything he sees and hears to something he has seen or heard in the past.
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Crawling through the space between, I forget myself.
Nothing easier, you say, than to pinch a flower at the stem.
When there’s nothing to do, when I’m bored or dreary
I’ll sit still and watch from the window, I’ll wait
for the weather to change, which it will.
it was the first time I felt like a real poet. After all these years of trying to figure out what poetry was, what being a poet was all about. During my walk back home I ruminated about writing a philosophical tract on EXIT signs.
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