Useless

Follow me down, raindrop, between cleft earth

Where roots in the chasm twist and writhe;

Come with me to caverns with neither light

Nor water.

Long Hand

The long hand sweeps, dials time for me.
Oh, the hours, they hardly matter;
Slow by comparison.

Blues

I caught the blues from my baby
Walking down by San Francisco Bay.
It’s an old cliché.

Inner Sound

A beat, like the sun rising behind you,
A crack of dawn over the mountains;
Cloud shifts; shafts reach over your shoulder,
Low.

My Room with Black Text

I live in a room, with black text scrawled
On ink-stained pages: typescripts piled
Ceiling-high, I live among notebooks and notes.

I have cabinets of ill-assorted documents,
Drawings sketching roads from there to here:
Roads well-trodden, followed for safety,
And those less-travelled, never taken.

But not for the want of deliberation.