2003

How clearly I recall my thoughts
When ten years old
Running on the black sand
And thinking how old I will be
When 2000 comes around.
I'll probably be dead.
If not, then an old lady
Maybe with a stick

But here I am
Still young
Still dreaming of love
So full of zest and life.
No longer the existentialist.
No longer the absurd nihilist
Where death was the hunter.
No, here I am
Filled to the brim with awe and wonder
At this mysterious world
I inhabit
Me, and you.
The creators.

WE SORTA LOVED EACH OTHER

How sad it is that physical passion dies after a time,
If real love doesn't follow. And sometimes it doesn't.

Is one to simply drift away hurting and hurting the other.
And yet to sit silently in the evenings with little to say
When once we would have rushed to bed locked


in sheer delight.
Occasionally mentions his former wife's name
By mistake - not that I think he's dreaming of her.
He's not, but habits die hard.

That gentle real loving where you are happy
Just to be together hasn't happened.
And I mourn a thing that wasn't but might have been
But is not and, we are going to pine.

There must be something there you say if you're
both so sore.
It was our loneliness that brought us together.
A dream with no reality.

Starvation makes cannibals of us.

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