walk

walk & talk &
wait for calls,
and what it's
all about. and
if i should wake
before i dream,
i hope i don't
appear or seem
aloof or distant
or any other ex-
treme.

but that's not
what the poem
started to be
about and maybe
that's what walks
are like - and i
didn't get the
timing perfect,
but the heart
was pumping
perhaps &
the stairs
i lumber up
and down daily
must count for
something. and
more important
was the though
-ts, p.s. kinda
thoughts brought
with careful
abandon, with
an abundance of
warmth and feeling.

and you see things when
you walk and when you
walk alone and think
you see things and
think things and
see things that
you think visually
maybe and you just
put one foot in front
of the other and the
feelings it elicits
are ancient - of man
walking this planet
round and round,
thinking his thoughts,
thinking her thoughts.

and as i've said,
people are constantly
walking in this town so
i don't have to wear a dis-
guise or slip from tree to tree
warily wondering if someone's watching.

and there's alleys and bridges and castles
and treehouses and so many things to
explore - slowly, on foot - like
a pack animal from a distant
land, aloof and goofy
looking. and i've
used the word
before and
the thought
before, but
not like this,
not like this
before.

such a bore rattling on and on
with no clear direction seemingly -
and yet this dance is sincere - this
merrily skipping across the stage, the
boards creaking with age but not giving
out. cram packed with images, the moment
is too much to bear.