Distribution Automatique

Sunday, February 29

During the time I was writing some of the poems
for my collection
Light Street {click here},
I was experimenting with the idea of writing
poems along the lines of those I wrote as a child and
as an adolescent. For awhile I continued this practice,
and on 3/19/90 wrote the following poem:

Shakespeare's Shadow On Lined Paper

I was captured rather early in the game
By the sounds of cars going by and the sounds of rain
By the pigeons' aimless squawking across the street
By the look of a face or an eye in someone I'll never meet

And at times it's distracting to get through a day
When thoughts and feelings stream through in their own chaotic way
When perhaps I'm dismayed at life's contradictory play
And at last even come to lament death's final say

The warm rays of the sun are disappearing
The clattering sounds of the afternoon are clearing
The dissonant desires of night and dreams are nearing
And only the thought of sleep's soft arms is cheering

In one dream time itself has a place
Like every other object in trackless space
To go there happiness itself is but a lure
To be there is to partake of what is sure

In another the dark itself is bright
Color, hands, events are a kind of light
Where even the helpless fate of life is light
Where the closed eye of nothingness has sight