Noh Tight'll

What the hell to do--in these shallow verses, in life, whatever it means. never know, so, find comfort in vagueries, and solace in dreams. never feel obliged to explain or analyze any thing or verb. a handful of tulips, an ink-blot on the back of her neck--as i rubbed the tendons of my own. they were greasy, tense. the nights, the afternoons, the mornings i've been sleeping through for damn near two years--only more Sunday school in this town, for a summer most likely, for ever May be. never know, yes, always maybe. unshore, pull anchor, all the pull i've got here now--mere, a drop in the bucket of all verbs and things. they don't want me to Leif, but i've got two, and only one promises less of the same stresses, dissents, and disdains. "happy trails" bid to Oregon maybe, most likely stopping a valley short. my lumpy shoulders carry the cornices of three columns--i doze, a night owl in the day time and a morning lark in the creased dark of every night