Above It All

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

Far From The Waterpark Crowd

A little bit of distance,
That is all I really need

To be
Calm and comfortable,
And not get overanxious —

A ways to take the photo,
It looks better from this view

As once again,
Artistic concerns rescue the introvert
Through provision of

Plausible excuses


The most intense and well-lived days
She’s ever known,
Consisting in sensing and discovering
Things not exactly new,
But new to her experience

The difference between
Reading about something and actually doing it;
And image of something and really sensing it
In all of its dimensions,
Sound —

And she realizes that life
Is something like a journey to
A popular tourist location:
Everyone experiencing the same sights
Doesn’t make them any less amazing,
Unless you happen to despise any experience
Most people share

But even shared experience
Must first be experienced,
And is in the feeling,
The basking,
The living-within
That she finds herself now —

Taking in both joy and sorrow,
And realizing, fully, for the first time

How connected those two things are

Motel 70

Once, this place was teeming
With families trying to show
Their over-energized children
The wonders of a country
As viewed from the Interstate
While Buzz and Neil walked the moon
The kids were more interested
In the pool where psychedelic towels
Had suburban girls with braces and
Corn silk makeup thinking they
Were hippies too, while their brothers
Performed cannonballs off the sides; but
No amount of water splashed
Was going to move mom’s hair with
That much hairspray, as dad
Read the Courier-Gazetter
And asked what the country was coming to
There in view of the off-ramp, sipping
A Pepsi-Cola and eating a Butternut bar

But the real decay comes not from complacency
But from not understanding that everything we see
Is in effect us

Old Dirt Road

Down an old dirt road,
By an old lone tree,
I saw her once —

I think that I was
Seven at the time

In a summer field,
In a different world,
I saw her there:

And still, I think about her,
Now and then

In a yellow dress,
With her bright blonde hair
That was tangled out

Her sister was trying to brush it
Back and down

Down an old dirt road,
On a summer trip,
I saw her once —

And I can see her clear as summer