Passed through a cemetery coming here
but
that’s not what this is about. Where
do you see yourself in ten years? Asleep
much of the time the occasional meal
the occasional thought the occasional train
the occasional rhyme. When you dream what’s
hidden in that alphabet? Future imperfect
eyes look aslant inadvertent laughs flowers
that refuse still to name us. Tame
birds. What? I’m free associating again
don’t shake your head at me I’m free
to associate with whomever I please
I’d speak of her hair but it’s too much like
talking about love then we passed through that
cemetery every poem ends the same way.
