“Everyone’s trying
to get to first base
and there is none.”
—a San Francisco bus driver, during evening rush hour
A muscle in my mind
just flexed—
and everything is level
The sky
provides
the spectacle
*
Don’t pretend
that you know
their remedy
We set everything
to the climate
of our being
Eyes
that want
to see everything
*
A joy
beyond
philosophy
Your intentions
are merely catalysts
for your destiny
Each
to his own
muddied lake
*
At home
alone
feeling my life again
It happens like this:
a surge of vitality
followed by a cold
Something deeper going on
that I don’t yet
understand
*
Her smile
made him feel
good all day
Hope
without
objective
To
be
imperturbable
.
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