Material things surround me,
and seem so devoid of meaning.
The room sucks me in when I am to be there,
and spits me out when I am to go.
Now, I am to go-
out of the room and into my dreams.
Struggling to retwine the fraying rope of my life,
I’m unresilient now-
unlike the old, happier me.
The pain of everything
will grind away at what’s left of me,
until even the tears are ground out-
and the hurt drives too deep
to weep it out.
So, like a teardrop unfallen-
I will resign myself to drift back into ever-slumber,
and hope that I can wake
and avoid this sickly impotence.
And, in the light of a new day,
I’ll move forward into the world
what possible trade I can negotiate.
Whatever I grope fruitlessly for-
I know is out there…
in Santa Cruz!
(5- 4- 79)
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