and beyond

 

first night productive in a couple of weeks

the wind picks up and suddenly it’s 100

back down twenty or so it seems

even if it’s still high eighties

planes overhead that sound like cars

when I used to sit at Bickford’s

drinking shitty coffee and smoking cigarettes

completely crooked standing still

at the bottom of the hill

looking upward and onward

passed all my mistakes

empty pockets where hands once were

too generous until the hole dug

enormous and I don’t know which way is up

branches crack in the backyard late

someone taking the shortcut home

what if I leave some morning

and no one hears from me again

these days truly stranger than fiction

how many pages spent until something

makes sense here and beyond…