It's like 1:40. I understand life's
amazing and I didn't just before
this moment. I got a little high
just off hanging out; I confessed problems
of various types and degrees; I thought
for a moment I might be in love with
just about everyone. For a moment,
though, and then, even with the whole country
to choose from, I remembered I'd just be
me again when I got there. All the truth
was in the antibiotics, but I
really didn't want to take them. And now
it's 1:40 at night, big moon, small buzz.
I'm as I occur in nature. It's great.
Whoa, whoaoaaaaa, whoaoooaaooo, whoao,
whooooaaaaa, whoaoa, waaahhhhooohoao, whoa,
whoa, hawwhahaoao, whooahow, hoooawowhoawhoa,
oahwhohowao, whoaaooaaooaa, whhhhhhhhhha, wowho,
hawww, hawwwoa, whoaaaaaooo, whooooaaaaah,
hwawhoa, how, hao, whoa, whoahowoa, hoowhaohow,
whulya, howlyo, yoooaaahaw, whoa, holoao, ylaowho,
hoooaaalllywhoa, whoa, whoa, hoooolooooooooaoawh,
lolwowhoawho, howlyo, hawlya, holwyoa, hawawlywhoa,
ohwhoaohoh, whoalywhoa, owlyowl, awlwhawl, whoa,
whoa, whoawhoa, whoa, whoa, aohwowwhoaoa, aaah,
oooh, ohhhh, llllllll, yyyl, whlhwhy, whwhw, wwhhha, howlo,
whhhhhh, whhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, ha, ha, oh, whoa, whoa.
I feel this wind all the time. You don't talk
to me, and I'm holding on inside it.
My map has these lines that look to my east,
my left or my right, where it's all changing.
So, there are a lot of good ways to go,
and I feel like going to all of them,
but you don't talk and the rain is raining.
Here on the stupid moon, I get marooned.
It's tempting to imagine a system
with less pain and cleaner jump shooting form,
but I've handled my whole life to get here
and I can't imagine things changing now.
Banners hang from rafters, a hurricane
in my head. You don't talk to me, new world.
If you look carefully at the ocean
you will see it's really big and the ships
are getting tired. There's an argument
for concision out there somewhere but it's
not meant for me at this time. The ocean
is without ligaments. It tears nothing,
and it goes on forever. History,
we know, will not be kind to us, faithful,
teary renditions of our favorite songs
notwithstanding. You look careful, and so
no one comes anywhere near you, and you
know history's the history of that.
What was it the ghost said in my series
of dreams? Ships come in, but where in the world?