I.
Holding court in house of caffeine discourse
Minions hear ear carefully
Actually not comprehend sound one speck
Just sitting and think minding
Do the others grasp mind hold the
No flinch flex away, truth swallows only odd tastes primarily
Or so he voice speaks smile smirking
Nicotine yellow stain soaked index fingers
Once hot coffee part consumed
Attire style bordering
Yet on purposely not quite
Style is his trend collectiveness
Follow drones can even look the part
Marx speak incessant then stopping
Momentarily class warfare farer
Next love holding Adam Smith
Like long missing brother
Deconstruction is masturbation, capitalism is crime
Either side is fine to fight for it is all for the argument anyway
Idiots are rapid reviewed
Brain speed faster than mouth move but
Intelligent eloquence is never lost
Sometimes misplaced but always returns
Where was I? Destruction is distracting
Hints clues of sad sick song in voice tone
Some partly subtle but present
Italian non-native orders coffee at counter
Ciao! Conversation ensues for a minute
Language is math with red pepper and lattice
Patterns of move meanings numbers drifting through air
Momentarily after he is wordless
Next far away untouched by daylight and bird song less
Interruptions last secondarily, then mouth opens and ideas exit
Charisma is there regardless though eyes show touch of soul pain
Lights another smoke cigarette and on to . . .
II.
Chill-quiet state forest in the dead heart of winter
Fire tower seems misplaced and lonely
Sitting even above the tallest ancient trees
Pondering sitting amongst piles of journals, dusty volumes
Smoking cig butts in ash tray, piled high as fire tower itself
Looks much the same, recognizable in self-exile soul sojourn
Nerve ticks in mannerism, speech occasionally quickens
‘Med pills helps some, still sleep turn uneasy slumbers sometimes
Voice is shaky-thin haunted, yet still filled with life
Don’t miss teaching lecturing, miss the people students
‘I look for smoke here, it is quiet I can read, no distractions’
Phlegm mouth, water sip, lithium tongue scorch
Thirst hiss, eyes distant horizon point
‘Only one winter fire, but one section of woods blazed red to char
Lonely duty, but this place I must be, sylvan quiet calming’
Hand him a pile of word puzzle scribble grids from the Times
Mild diversions for him, weeks of intelligent torment for me
Questions asked about old friends
Doing fine not doing fine married had children dead/drunk, etc.
Smile to face thinking back to when things weren’t so night black
Short wave radio plays jazz from distant metropolis
In distance sun is dip setting, I climb down
Shaky handshakes my hand, trembling a little a battle to keep it still strong
Small smile across his face, visible emotion in his eyes
Little victory battles one recalls, when the warfare farers fight no longer
III.
Eyes open, dark my vision
Phone ring aware now, fumble reaching
Receiver in hand, mumblings and greet speak
Deep resignation of fate driven bio inevitability
Slow walk to the car, late fall early
Night morning air feels cold damp wet upon my bare skin spots
Put car drive slick roads slow speed
Destination dark dim door ajar
Cig smoke ember-red leads way
Distant eyes non-responding dimensioned but absent
Stumble walk to dark dead dawn
Alive for some not all
Slow drive in small red car
One aside in car is so far
Destination reached
Gaze never breached
That which is
Paper work always
Slurring the word and scribbles
The effort a mountainous molehill
Not for nothing is something
The place placard states the obvious
Is this the Looney bin?
Sure why not
Was not was always has been
This is a circle but a broke shattered sullen one
I understand half way but never want to understand whole
IV.
It is summer and I sit on the carport with the outside light on reading.
He walks up from next door.
‘What are you reading?
‘A.E. Houseman.’
‘I loved A.E. Houseman when I was your age.’
‘I like Terrence This Is Stupid Stuff’
‘I read that one many times. His poems have nice order to them. They are comforting, but . . .’
‘What?’
‘It is hard to explain’
‘Oh.’
‘A lot of things are.’
Gene G. McLaughlin 2014
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