seeking, seeking
no regrets
in this magic

run my obstacle course
with the joy of the raven
trickster, teacher

I am foolish in matters
of conscience and a
master of the short-term

I don’t speak in
benign truths or
passing experiences
ignorance is…

I can’t know
what the hell
I want,

I want.

option anxieties and
remorseless buyers
crowd this bazaar
a blinding array
of halter tops and bells

a cacophony of toes
never going beyond
a dip in the cool water

I find myself admiring
the tastes of those who have
come before me
and the flawed patina
of their travel

the flaws

perhaps it owes
its opera
to the infomercial
of my own unsurveyed
chutes and ladders

parting of love
the suicide of my father
lovers on any street but…

the blue
excuses of memorial day

need, need
time speaks of need
as it were a curse,
and an ideal

the sway of
so many skinny French skirts
like Lamborghinis
and palm trees

I will shed
more tears and
expectations on this
highway…

and I will
burn rubber
and brake pads
in the fool hearty
abuse of this vehicle

in search of shelter
numbness
a circuitous path

home

© Tom Watters  5/29/06