The Summer-pleasant breeze
takes its toll on former doldrums
buds are budding and teens are kissing
headlines printed to be recycled
so what's new
after all these years
besides Bukowski and you and me
and maybe ferlinghetti or perhaps Sartre,
Or maybe that guy who is always on the corner
and in your face, IS your face
What about him? what about you?
What about he, she, they, it , we, them,
Just how bout the whole freaking disfunctional Borg. huh?
I'm asking here: just tell me something.
Tell me something true.
Are you still the same person I remember?
Are you still hidden in a dream?
...
No. I'm smoking cigarettes with American friends
and downing coffee at Les Deux Magots
I just asked that they scroll the awning
no pen, no blue-lined paper...all gone to waste
all men look like you, before success, before the mistress
sings the blues across a poolroom of testosterone
You see, I haven't changed much more
than Simone the day she turned the page
to better taste the cognac
but they died, all the references died
and went to hell, as far as i can tell
...
Have we proof that France existed?
What if we were only gaining muscle in midwestern fields
without crossing over, frozen in our twenties
in a skin aging drift, poetry harnessed.
That felt love still aches past the ideals of peace
and you. And You? Are you still hiding in a thesaurus?
Are you still hiding in a dictionary?
Or perhaps a glossary?
or maybe a computer?

very atmospheric -M