Lighter than ashes, darker
than the collars of men
in pressed suits. Locked doors.
Forget to be hushed, to hush oneself
pass hash on the rooftop terrace
of some clown motel or hotel-on-sea
stay paranoid til the first utterance of blue humid dawn
To name a thing is to know it.
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If you are sleeping now, mama,
that is good,
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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