“Wish I Knew You...

When I was young. We could’ve got so high.”

Sound on the lake carries. Especially at night. Even murmurs. Sometimes. If it’s quiet enough and the train isn’t passing through. But it’s mostly at night. Voices in a casual tone definitely do. Music, for sure.

It’s amazing what you can catch. Or what’s caught. People who live on a lake know this so, at night, we whisper.

The song by The Revivalists was playing out the back speakers of a boat just now. It was as loud as if it was on the radio in the next room. I pulled out the binoculars to search for the boat from which it came.

My mind drifts. I replay thoughts and moments and touches with (whoever) you (is).

I love the song. And I do. I wish I knew you when I was young.

Covid Poem?

You're the perfect, built-in excuse.

Delaying everything. Avoiding anything. Doing nothing.

I call for an appliance repair.

“Well, there’ll be a wait. You know, covid.”

An acquaintance asks,

“Can I stop by?”

“Uh, covid?”

Coarse toilet paper complaints?

Any toilet paper is better than none.

Because Covid.

I get it. I use it. It has become convenient, so universally understood.

Covid.

Devour

“My Dear,

Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it's much better to be killed by a lover.
-Falsely yours” 

Charles Bukowski