Monday, November 19, 2012


I sit under the willow
beside the lake
and try to think

But as I smoke this cigarette
my mind is blank
This feigned madness
has become taxing
in more ways than one

The lake does glimmer
and so imparts
a sense of beauty
that is a mere illusion
The complexes
and their shoddy lights
can be seen on either side
and I try to determine
which is real

A biker circles
this glass mirror
or so it seems

And as I dive, dive, dive
toward my tromp l’oeil
he looks ahead

They talk of swimming
but they’ll never see
my deceived dip
the way I did

Two walkers pass
and I cough,
oh, I do cough
and they must not think I see
or hear
them as they mention me

That tree may outlive me
but I left my mark
as it left its
in these immortal words

I need to augment my life
with more of these
momenta

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