Coffee, Hot, Black,
Cream and sugar. I
explain to her that
It is “OK”
I know that fleeting
thoughts of old
dreams make melancholy
the otherwise
pervasive spirit.
It Matters not what
other’s done
or what I Did not.
We are not hungry,
no, quite the opposite…
We are so well fed
that we should burst
with the energy
to reel in the sun.
“You see, I’ve realized something”
Though longing makes for
great sounding poetry,
my real meaning is derived
from real work. No, not
the farm; Citizen poet
Makar of webs, pictures
words, words for words,
we have so much language
we can’t contain it
awaiting on shelves
for our pronunciation
if only we can understand…
“Want to go to the library?”
10/24/19
One reply on “Keep Going”
[…] As I sit in my car And wonder where we are I was wishing we could Get lost like the beats On the road, freedom free Wind and cactus and bugs In our teeth, gobbling on The American landscape. Alas, romantic… til you Realize you’re homeless And poetry doesn’t pay And you never learned how To farm. Your quaint garden No replacement for year- Round bread. Eat these words? Deaf ears on empty stomach Too much focus on need To consume gospel. The loaves are gone And the wine? I gave that up. Years ago. “It’s OK.” She says. My eyes forsaking This fantasy gone awry. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee.” […]