There are the big things in my life. Even at this point, I really don't know what to make of them. I know the illusions I followed. I know what I wanted but that was never possible. Three times I tried. Instead I have the life of the possible. That is all right with me. I am all right.
Why Do I Do This?
You tell me to check
so I look in all the back
rooms, in the boxes
I stashed there, looking
for motives, hidden behind
the obvious ones.
Out of the corner
of my eye something scurries
along the wall, dives
into that small hole
and refuses to come out,
not even for you.
That is, you say, the main motive.
February 2, 2009 2:42 PM
I loved your poem. I loved your preamble. The way you pull a whole world of feeling into a few lines.... so lovely and poignant.
ReplyDeleteand I Loved loved loved the two mice. especially the phrase: he's dead, Jim.
thank you Dr. McCoy.
It was all good dude! Preamble, poem, photo. I don't want to refuse to come out. Damn it. I want to be OUT!!!
ReplyDelete