Feb 042014
 

A man runs over to call me a-hole

I “drugged” my bag along the side of his truck—

then he runs fast into Mickey-D’s

 

A great wind, nurtured
in the Blue Ridge mountain passes
sweeps through our town

our little enclave, called Mulberry Court
softens our encounter with the unknown

 

careless words, I am seeking too much

lost my balance and rhythm after midnight—

too late for healing

 

Lily the cat, her soft eyes

staring into mine at 5 a.m.—

she feels my pain

 

lots of anxiety and several screw-ups

sometimes I can’t seem to forgive myself

when I feel I have  hurt myself or others

when I feel a relationship is compromised

even when light glows on the back fence

 

new McDonald’s nearly deserted

I write haiku at a large round table—

a kind of meditation

 

parked in a garbage dump alley

walked alone to the wine bar

for the poetry open mic

 

river of cars on Route 25

gray mist on the face of the mountain

60’s music on the radio

 

searching again on the net for Joe

my homeless friend who rented a room—

lost himself in pawn

 

shadowy figures form a circle

in the 7-11 parking lot tonight—

I walk past, don’t turn around

 

Up and down too much

All night long, eyes burning—

unmindful memories

 

teaching again, no lesson plan

searching for a movie that doesn’t exist

in another anxious dream

 

walked outside this winter night

trees and moon a ghostly white–

no fear of dangers beyond

 

 

 

 

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