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I
like girls if they're not too mean.
A book of verse beneath the bough,
a loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou
is better than a sharp stick in the eye.
Omar says, "Yeah!"
I
contribute to the well-being of
bartenders, feel a knuckle and
return the favor. We later laugh and
toast, masters of the universe.
Ah, youth.
I
sip cold creek water from both banks
to see what the other guy saw, and wonder
when that was and where he went and why he
came this way, tall trees watching; they
maybe knew him, and…
now me.
I
pay attention as the wild horse snorts his
defiance and disgust of this stranger in his
canyon kingdom. I tell him I won't be back. I
fill my eyes with memory of his rugged universe, his
harem glaring.
Chill, ponies!
I smile and think of them as a damselfly lights on
my bare shoulder in a desert canal. I feel the
tightness in the air, monsoon coming, houseflies
on the ceiling. Lightning flashes not so far away.
"Go home, fool!'"I think, "and write about
it a long time from now, with a
glass of whiskey, in the
comfort of oldness."
So
I do…and am.
Welcome.
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