20 Nov 2013, 9:42am
Writing
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the deepest wood

finally I am a poet of Dasein.
I sit in the deepest wood and I look at them,
the neighbors (my neighbors, the ones with the late-night
band practice). They are functioning postscripts,
like the whole human race is like them. I can’t avoid this.
The father is a firefighter. On one, off two. A couple of nights
a week then he plays with his band. I know he plays guitar,
I think. I have a beer with him in my mind,
tipping my glass in his direction from my yard.
That’s it, have a cold one. His son is like my son(s):
airsoft aficionados, videogamers, gun-mechanics.
They ride their bikes around the neighborhood.
Blam-blam. We are like them. All of us.
I have a daughter; his wife is living with someone else.
See how it all fits? We rake up the leaves in a big pile
then we burn them.

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