The Unseasoned Trees

But my ideas are in a car, moving away from here
I was caught in a torrential downpour
I will be hiding from memory for the rest of my life

A rewinding of love greatly misappropriated, maybe never seen

You are antiquity in cake spaces, feeling a bit too sugary & out of step
Always, when you needed something but it was bare, you made do

Feeling a laugh interior to this, a spoken monologue held by mirrors

The wide open roads of North Dakota and Saskatchewan
are nowhere near me, but they are key to this very line of thought

A place to go in-between the double yellow lines of authority

Going to love a road that lives in a nude language

I am on the written roads

Riding on being tired, left to write a life without bookends

The only way I can possibly do this.



The Worlds Go Away

I have had trouble with worlds before
The words go away walking when you stare at them too much
The worlds stagger and fall to the ground like bumps

I looked at them without collusion
They are generous and even kind to visit at summer

My promise to you as a reader of these words is to
keep one eye on the exit sign, it is glowing over the door

And outside is a world leading into a world
The words are yours and not enough of them are floating away

A grand theme has been diminished

It is on the lower concourse with mittens and balloons

I send you an invitation to fill in the blanks!

Imagine you loved something so much it just disintegrated
Then what would you do, cry?

Would you try to relive it?

Suppose the roads are closed now
and you have to just walk

The maps are burnt
The world has packed its suitcase and jetted



Untitled

That which is gone we will miss. If it is a box, it's a box
a circle, a circle,
if it is a love, it is a love.
This does not have to be a love, but the love-memory
with a big mind, minding
sinking, sunken, gone, possibly.
Horizons bent, all screwed up to
the human eyes— to the mind, a music undefined
or a sad, lonely song.
Vanished and talking of something that is misunderstood
   The lines are lies—
   Staggering along the non-lines
   walking the empty rooms.