Australian man button holes me, explains collective unconscious in airport.
Once on subway in New York I saw a man talking angrily to God.
As poet Charles Simic would say, “he had dark ages on his brain.”
Easy to be confused by strangers and even friends. Easy to want bubble bath.
Trust notebook. It will never let you down.
When young, ate an onion like an apple, just to impress girl friend.
Old now, cleans ashes from fireplace, impresses no one.
How it goes. Time stretches him, but he’s only elastic in noggin.
Sometimes notebook’s pages get stuck together.
Dog owns all the money. Yellow canine money. Lucky, dog spends it with you.
Walked around the down on luck neighborhoods of Ithaca, New York.
Shabby houses looked like places where people were either sleeping or sick.
Old frame structures no longer loved.
But my dog and I—we were some kind of two headed flying fish.
Happiness was in the facing wind.
Planet of the Blind 