Suddenly I’ve grown very old.
Cranberry juice charms me.
Armaments of B12 vitamins,
creams of fresh peaches, wheat germ,
even two flimsy pieces of toast—
they all charm.
I want to die again in a nice house.
In a vacant street office of sheets.
I want to walk out from the bathroom
and scan through cards of families
and friends that are no longer mine.
People that never were.
I long for comics. For the clownish sun,
smudged & rusty, trapped in the renegade
eaves of a window. A sketch portfolio.
Ted, Bill, Jane or Joe’s. Beautiful strangers.
(Bill: Silver watch. Jane: Blue collar.)
Like a notebook littered with crayons
and pigeons, my memories are air.
Empty. Complete.
OCTOBER 2008