My Personal Build

much later, hasn't
happened yet!
but I can surmise
that it very well might.
                  buds
Missing my         up there,
and over there, and
down there.
Everyone is somewhere,
judging numbers
in some ways, mistakenly

this is happiness, in whatever
even naivety
has some pro

I miss him though
distances are crippling
at times

& at times productive and
conducive to my art.

Clutter is what it is in
its spiritual double
sits and steams. . .

silent fathers.
One a father of a so-so
table tennis prodigy looks
at me in the most
alienating manner while
moving his car elsewhere
in the lot.

Comes in and waves out
of habit.

---

it is not so bothersome
that I cannot even
read my own writing
-- handwriting,
it is just so pleasurable
to use up a pen
on an empty notebook
'specially the little fat ones.

---

She said let's be friends
in her usually sarcasti-
-cute manner
and by those photos I
see of her I
assume she is having
no more of those
doubts of Kansas
she once had --
when she did
we talked on the
phone somewhat often.
Not any longer --
physical friends
musical laughs
are better replacements
than any one
memory but the
given time
O how life
rushes! how these
strings slowly
unravel in the
winds of miles
of snow and
rocky hills --
flatland - endland
beast out even
the electric beating
of my heart and
brows.
and as these once
reserved pages run
down to their last few
lines -- I think
of her still
sometimes, not
my personal build, but,
a -- ?

I sobbed into flowers
into bushes shaped
ornately and through
low snow I ponder
what came of
that gift I sent
that was stolen, yet,
still arrived as
an empty envelope to
her in the
mail
      one morning.