Warehoused musings
Recycled thoughts
Round and round spins the top
Another wave
Distracted pace
Different whirlpool takes place...
life be short
when seen as...
on the inside
where age is...
just a consumer
item bought as...
if year by year of
work and toil is...
life's purchase
of being as...
something completed
which is...
just a fantasy
of mind as...
an obedience defined
existence that is...
but one knot of mind
we helped tie as...
some time package
so one more being is...
ready to be warehoused
and closeted as...
if in that final box already
however though the now is...
that reflection we call mind
image increments as...
time thoughts imagined
while the whole is...
the universe
squeezed as...
into some grain of sand
while its infinity is...
a too reduced concept
labelled as...
your hour to be
seen rather than what the infinite now is...
stan sand
Last summer
We drove across the country
Just the wife and me
10,000 miles
31 states
Three months on the road
I now know why people don’t live
In South Dakota
Hot, dry dusty
Windy as hell
Black Hills are nice
But after seeing Mt. Rushmore
There is not much left to do
Rapid City did not impress me
Nor did Sioux Falls
And wall drugs
Well the free water was nice
But it is a nothing town
In a nothing state
On the edge of the badlands
And the Sioux reservation
There is a reason the Indians live there
No one else wanted the land
And they are warehoused there
So I drove through Rapid City
And thought that it is the heart of Trump Land
The land of the forgotten
The left behind
Just another nothing burger of a State
In the middle of nowhere
Truly flyover country
I have never
Actually seen all this,
I just fantasize
In theme parks and pubs,
During an Alumni picnic,
Or while exiting bookshops.
Dreamland concoctions,
Warehoused in letters
After mundane names
Inherited from
A not so erudite father,
I would have the blood pumped in,
What goes out
Must, after all be replaced.
Lines and phrases
Twisted through history
This way or that,
Like autumn leaves
In a tornado of dust,
Isolated
On a sunny day.
Sounds tell me
That life has woken up,
Time for cotton wool
In kidney trays,
Time for squirrels
To gather nuts.
They will open
This sarcophagus
After me, beyond me,
Let the wisp escape the willow,
They will gather dust.