Time has passed
between us like..
oh, i dunno, a
river, i guess, or
like the wind,
like the morning turns to
afternoon--
you're in a caravan now,
in the desrt,
i'm in zurich, before the war,
pursuing nothing
(with enough passion
to destroy me)
i'm happier than you
remember you're
kinder than
i gave you credit for
and i know i
said i'd stop
these letters
but in the absences of
your eyes
they're all i
have to help me
stay awake.
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p.s. that, and my cats.
and, uh, my friends. :)
p.s. I'M MOVING TO MONTREAL!!!
good for you...
hope Montreal is as untamed as our wild prairie and can accomodate your feral rythms.
"journeys, like artists, are born and not made. A thousand differing circumstances contribute to them, few of them willed or determinded by the will-whatever we may think."
Lawrence Durrell.
great piece here.
(montreal's nice. been there done that! :)
verification: szoka
I guess it's Lorne's turn then.
:)
And geezuz, these poems slay me.
They really do.
Ugh.
yeah, I like how informal they are, like he's talking to you. and then he's in zurich. it's cool that way, how it places you next to the character and then you're in germany!
or, uh, switzerland. ;)
thanks. the positive feedback on this series (which i swore was done!) has encouraged me onto greater and more painful public acts of self-flagellation. heh. just kidding.
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