Just the other night, I found myself having to shuffle some stuff around in my garage. You know, making a path to make room for other stuff. Anyway, after I accidentally broke some pottery, I happened across this poem I wrote a long time ago. It was written all at once, in a flood of words, and remains as-was, that is to say unedited, and unrevised.
I remember liking it at the time, but I was traveling when the poem happened, and I lost the scrap it was scrawled on within a few days. As they years marched by, I forgot all of it — save the title and the last two lines. I’m not sure how I feel about it now. I can’t interpret it. Nor do I know what inspired it, so it’s a lot like the writing of a stranger to me. Odd that. If you feel like reading it, come on over the fold.