Am trying to find
something in
what was, what
is and still is, what
has been. What
could've been
what should have,
or what I wished was.
This...I know; I
apologize for
—But am the color solid.
Whose center is
an increasingly
middling muddle
of chroma and grey.
I'm sorry for that stanza.
]I believe (whether
right, or not) that
evidence leads
to understanding.
And it is so hot, today
is the first day that life
seems unbearable
again, as the second
summer with no air
conditioning.
I'm sweat, and looking
into the mirror and through it
into the past where my ace
remains unchanged.
and this:
to knowledge in the recompense
which's why I (who intelligent)'ve
stopt thinking.
New Section.
I've got the box fan
in the window, accept it
as a thing bequeathed
by friend long gone and misst.
What comfort can the air
pulled in by box fan and pushed
through open door give?
