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Driving out 281 toward a shot in the knee
I heard the news
The moon is dead
There was no hesitation, no doubt
This was good news
Contamination no longer an issue
No need to pick up trash on the moon
License for astronauts to sneeze
or even puke on its face
I have an affinity for the dead
an impulse to chronicle decay
every day I snap a photo
a cactus morphing in the alley
indifferent partner in the dance
of weather and neglect
Dylan is my favorite dead person
his Bubba my favorite dog
I keep an altar
in his room and in my heart
and sometimes see them rambling
on the slant side of vision
peering into the window of the library
from the salivating darkness
I almost hear
"Must have tacos"
as I unlock and re-lock the door
and step into the storied night
Last night for the first time since I bought this beast, I turned it off because I was tired. Until then it's been like a drug or a really good book; once I started it up I would keep going for a ridiculous length of time, wearing myself out ad getting no sleep. And yet, it often feels like work?
What makes the computer so compelling. I watch children at the library and they're transfixed. Their parents try in vain to break their concentration; I hear them pleading with their children to go out on the playground. Hopefully, I think, this concentration is good, this ability to focus. But is it, or is it like the mindless focus on television that captured their predecessors and made of them couch potatoes?
As for myself, I have no answer. I do not focus. I wander. There are too many possibilities here. It's like being in the grocery store trying to remember what I meant to buy.
Driving out 281 toward a shot in the knee
