I was left for dead
Back in the 70's
I had no one to blame
But myself
I pulled slowly out
Of gridlock
Two decades later
But by then
The handwriting
Was on the wall
Who are you, my friend
Do you recognize yourself in the mirror
Each morning you would awaken
To find
Remnants
Of past encounters with yourself
Finally you decide
To terminate the agreement
And move toward
A policy of non-reconciliation
The minutes pass
And the daylight crumbles
Blades of grass are filtered
Through prisms of lingering shadows
Reality ebbs
And voices can be heard
It's a life that requires
No compensation
Hold forth
And become acquainted with
This season
Of billowing clouds
How like the colors
Of a desert valley oxidized
And painted black
People who wander by
What are they thinking
Where is their sense
Of proportion
I believe myself
In idleness
And soothing thoughts
But too much peace
Lacks inspiration
