Thursday, November 20, 2008

Dead-end thoughts

Wond'ring about someone unusual,
I wonder:
am I as outside as I think?
Sitting here, unable,
I think what an adventure each face would be;
you could walk for miles here
around and around the lake.
I consider calling someone,
but fail to muster the interest.
Seems as though waiting
would give me some return,
but I know there's nothing
here in public,
and turn my back
on sparkling setting sun;
but there's less a difference
than I like to think
between me and everyone.

1 comment:

Paul Bernard said...

Nice work. Poems and a novel too! Have you finished your corpus? Are you allowed to post an extract?
Thanks for your comment on my story.