to Steve



we were just two
wreckless drivers in the night
and by the laws of
coninciding people
we would most likely collide
and see the brilliant shards
of light
intruding into our insides
believing ourselves to be
the luckiest people in town
relaxed on the pavement
we would know that we would
have work off tomorrow
and rest while we pondered.
I would ponder older men,
handsome men with pipes.
You would ponder a younger me,
a careful me,
and we would sigh when
they brought us bitter coffee
and saw the flowers round
the room.

maybe I am charged with jealousy
when waking up and wishing
there was enough coffee for my life to work.

maybe I am weary
mal adjusted and
creeped. I can't make
my tongue work.

say that I am not quite
forbidden to be sad
to let 9 minutes fall out of my eyes and
hope that tomorrow my
brain can work.

'that this too too solid flesh would melt'
and I wonder,
to be, or not?
if Idaho is available
maybe my car can work.