No Talent For Certainty

Come, look into the future, see
The winding road of destiny
That bears us to we-know-not-where
Across the wide tomorrow

It’s nothing like the trip we’ve known,
And there’s no map that can be shown
To where all we will stop ere there,
No compass we can borrow —

And days we feel like all is choice,
We’re worried that we’ll blow it;
But now’s an evanescent thing
And gone before we know it —

Whatever road we hap to choose,
The way’s not really ours to lose:
The sun will soon be falling,
The wide tomorrow’s

Calling

Version 2

The fairgrounds in their splendor,
A young love in its bounty,
Chaotic and disordered,
Like everything around me

It’s actually, well, tawdry;
But in our interaction
We find the beauty in a place
That has no great

Attraction

---

Version 1

The fairgrounds
Carried with them all of
The chaotic, asymmetrical splendor
So many of our best days have

A place is magic
Not intrinsically, but
Because of how we interact with it

And a new love here
In this unfashionable place,
Beats a sunny day of lonely cynicism

On the Riviera

She loved her daddy maybe some,
He loved her mostly always, yes;
There was no distance, no divorce,
Just growing up and old, I guess

For pictures freeze another you;
Today’s the rain, and the malaise —
She loves her daddy, maybe, some,
But they’re just disconnected

Nowadays

She sat out on the roof and watched
The city in its sadness;
I used to see her every day,
As we had each our habits —

I loved her like the robins sing,
With no real audience —
But she was broken-hearted, then,
And has been since.

For though she kept her lookout true,
Continuing, unwearied,
She never found what she had lost,
Though it was never buried —

I saw her like the seagulls see,
Just circling the distance —
But she was fractured, incomplete,
And has been ever since.

For though we sit atop a roof
To leave behind our cargo,
We cannot get above it all —
Not in this world

Of sorrow

Love is a faraway place,
And self is a time apart;
The best book that you never read
Is waiting —

Your mind should be let out some times,
And just be free to run:
There’s no place safer, wilder, than

The pages

for everything that never was,
for miracles that never came,
for childhood by terror marred,
for shadow creep, and ruby stain,
  
for daymares and for friendless weeks
that stretch out to eternity,
there comes a time for packing up
your few last things
and nameless

need