clouding my mind
I am reading what I cannot remember, sifting the wind for a scent of meaning, perhaps, something that will stick to my bones, like poetry occasionally did in my youth (when it was read as an adjunct to the impossible pursuit of cheap sex). Now everything has taken on the air of the airport, insomnia and cleaning products. Alienation was a kind of eastern european atmosphere, now it is a humorless white cell, the timber skeletons of unborn houses dissect the sky and the earth runs in a field of murderous mud, taut strings with little red flags vibrate in anticipation of nothing. It would be marvelous if I saw it in a movie, the narrative to nowhere. Fortunately we are adept at putting one foot in front of the other. We who continue in the tradition of the children's crusade, and the trail of tears, the mines of montezuma, the leap of the lemmings -sometimes in my sleep I am bothered by a plague of mice.