Poem 49
I sit at my spot
On the hill
I go to when things pile up in my mind,
When my mental traffic is in gridlock.
And I like its simplicity - the spot I mean -
A hill
A road
A river.
They don’t require justification.
They are not required to be conscious.
A sweet envy eases into my mind
And I want to tuck into the hill-
A bed of mud,
Curl over and pull the grass up to my chin,
Fall asleep,
And take part in the miracle
Of willful, extended,
Unconsciousness.
Poem 48
There are good things in this world-
Fresh-baked cookies,
That girl downstairs.
These are things I don’t deserve.
I am crooked.
