Saturday, January 17, 2009

Sitting on a Rock Behind my Motel Room (c 1980)

Not far from humanity, but close to the trees. Waiting for the robins to sing in the nighttime. My thoughts sifting gently in the whispering breeze. Tires on the highway humming their chords. Pleasant gray clouds.

Tonight I cannot find the words to express the way I feel. Tonight I cannot find words to express the way I cannot find words. Tonight it is only me & my motel room & the rock in the field behind it. Tonight it is only the gentle, cool breeze & the pleasant warmth of the gray felt cloud cover overhead. Tonight the mosquitoes and I are perched in a moment of time, not far removed from the hum of the highway. Tonight is not a memory. Tonight is tonight. Somewhere between last night & tomorrow morning. Somewhere between the birth & death of a healthy, middle-class, perhaps a trifle spoiled American male. Tonight exists, but here it is shared with no one. Tonight has nothing to offer. Tonight is just tonight, which is enough for  me. Perhaps, on a night like tonnight I will sit with someone. And we will share nothing but the night itself. Side by side, we shall sit, exchanging no words. Together our minds will drift in separate dimensions. To share closeness in space will be enough. The true quality of friendship has no words. It is like tonight. Intimate. Indescribable. A moment in itself.

Time passes slowly on top of  large rocks.

Written somewhere in New Hampshire while on my way to a summer job. I was driving on my motorcycle from a job site in Concord to a job site somewhere in Keene. I think perhaps I stayed over more than one night, or stayed there on the way back, because I recall a maid saying to me "so you are a poet." Being a clueless, young lad, for all I know she was hitting on me.

Found written on pages loosely found within my old notebook of songs and writings.

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