Man's Machines

Might as well go to market. Gather money, kindling. The economy scary, debt deep, winter coming. Reminds me of my youth, cold poor and scared but living truth? . Never have I understood life's meaning, significance. Not to say there is no purpose necessarily, just I don't immediately get it. Other hand, if you don't think too deeply about death, this being but a dream, sleep of a god snoring with apnea or whose alarm goes off, wakes up for work, spring and expecting spring's good as it gets. Rhodora in winter completely forgets what its blossoms looked like, how attractive to bees and flies! It's probably healthy that everything dies. The dire economy can bring us together or lead us to war. It's cold then warm. Your lover doesn't write letters anymore giving thanks or encouragement. Friends never really know each other, nemesis. Just as it is impossible to say what you mean, your closest lover's near but external, forever. You're alone. More than ever men have one mind and finding it's as easy as flicking on the tv, huckleberry, but that always was the problem. We march to war in rows and back in columns. Learning who you actually are is difficult as sitting still ten minutes without a thought or want. Nothing to say. Nothing to do. Interior solitude, imperative belonging. Repetitive dreaming. Until you draw a circle with a dot at the center. Stop. Full stop. On a dry rocky ridge, hot or in a frozen swamp. One heron and yourself. It is possible to hear not far, a car, a train, a plane.