Thursdays that disappoint !
A sadness reigns .
Some Thursdays
come, most by, do go.
Why everyone does
not flow ?, I do not know.
A lube job for
you, an oil change for me.
No consistency,
why ?, this I can not see.
Now taking two
hours, sometimes more
When it used to be
twenty minutes to my door.
Slipping the head
of the family into the crevice.
Sliding
effortlessly into that moist, dark cave.
Penetrating,
feeling, touching walls that gave
shelter – for a
time – to little solders on the run.
In search for that
nest of eggs, now only for fun.
For the years have
taken, as did a medical device.
Knowledge of, know
full well that this cave is barren.
Representing only
a portion of its former self.
The rest placed upon
some medical shelf.
Gone is the time of
productivity, into space, staren.
In search of,
becomes the joy, the adventure,
the desire and the
pleasures, during a time.
Times of closeness,
not always, are they mine.
That is alright, I
guess, with this families head.
Not alight are the
excuses, the reasons I am fed
for the loss, the
denial of Thursday night,
the searches, resurrecting
of the hunt I might
continue - in that
beautiful cave – searching.
Trying to find the
right door, reaching.
Searching for
those none existent eggs, to ply
the pleasures
found in the hunt – denied, why?
One has to wonder,
what was your game.
To know all the
others, to know their name,
would not comfort,
would not make things the same.
No !, and should
the hunt come to an end ?,
know, that no
matter what, I will still be a friend.
Know that consistency
is the spice of life,
as is spontaneity
and desire without strife.
Has life in the
spice jar, been forever lost ?
Celibacy, indifference,
aloneness the cost ?
B. J. “A ” 2
April
10th 2005
No comments:
Post a Comment