Patterns, there are patterns here
Beacons, some too close.
Passing, eyes are dazzled into the dark beyond.
The old path is lost, the new one obscured by greedy blindness.
Some too far, dim, confused with rising stars
Drunks in the dark, ties, dreads, opulent floozies, guitars. Aphorisms.
Prophets in running shorts spit on the sidewalk and I jump before their clear purpose.
Direction? I stroll aimlessly, looking for a sign.
Swirling potential, Durham, Ann Arbor, Princeton
The same, or do I merely see them with the same eyes?
Warm air from the sidewalk grate, should I follow the heat or the light?
Noise or signal? Lead or follow? Bartender or financier? Hobo or genius? Success or loser?
Who decides?
Laser focus … diffused over an entire life
A whole consciousness, observed in a flashbulb.
Your life I understand, mine I cannot see.
Rabbit twists in struggle, and a leg is broken rather than a neck.
Then the neck and the knife.
Chef resolves to respect his ingredients,
I hear a story on the radio, between wars and terror.
I give a book to a friend, inspired by it all.
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