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| March 17, 1981 |
Next: The Stars |
| to Wilchi |
every now and then I see your eyes so always sad as though it would pain you to injure a flea I look for that bulge in the arms the massive hands of one who bragged he flattened the captain with a blow what was it in you that liked me? you told me I did not fear you is that enough? wasn’t it also that you did not fear my mind as I did not fear your body? we argued like air-borne warriors enjoying that skillful savagery of acrobatic attack maneuver miles above catastrophic annihilation where are you today? still in that small hotel room next to the one I vacated without saying goodbye? still painting old apartments rebuilding crumbled homes one odd seasonal job or another? or did you return to that wife ex-wife parent step-parent daughter step-child life often presented to me for patient examination? was I your country doctor Alabama-style? or does it go deeper and far back to that man not-man of the reserved hut, who, from his odd corner of life could see into the unseen heart of the ordinary? I don’t know where you are I never knew searching meant finding something of myself I did not want to see you were too helpful giving me addresses of people I did not wish to admit I wanted to meet I still have them your sins great and small attracted and repulsed me like a fleeing planet causes its moon to travel a spiral path tell me old friend old neighbor where are you today? and where am I? |