Out of Some Vague Unholy Anger

The mind freezes. Because it is cold. Because it is old. Because it looked at itself in the mirror by accident, and well, we all know about Medusa’s endearing glance. But that’s not what’s going on here. I want to confront (non-violently) the masked goons running amok in our streets. But I guess I am still caught trying to confront the goons slinking around within me. It’s like this: a word or two or a phrase, teases me when I try to fall asleep, and fool that I am I have to follow it where it goes. Most of the time I think it would have been better to have just fallen asleep. Not all destinations arrived at seem worthy of the journey, and that is true about more than a few of these poems. Sorry. But those of us who know what it’s like to drive across vast landscapes of sameness, understand that sort of a journey. You are someplace going nowhere in scenes that never change but you have to keep going, because that is what change is. Irrevocable sameness that shifts subtly and then almost unnoticed, becomes totally something else, someone else, somewhere else. This beautiful body of earth, aching and quaking, and wildly telling stories to make the heaviness all worth while, creates for itself, maybe even carries, many explanations for its comings and goings: love, mystery, loss, illusion, happenstance, pizza (both the physical and metaphysical kind), etc, etc. People will grab you by the overcoat and spin you around and wild-eyed try to explain to you what is actually going on and why, but I won’t do that. I ask only that you ignore me, and maybe forgive me also that my self-to-self mutterings sometimes got so loud as to be overheard..