Coming Home to a Gone World

It’s been like this each time
I lost the world…friends when I was
Twelve…friends when I was 23 all
Gone in the erosion of time…the
Mandelbrot is set for things to arise
And abate.

A narrowed umbilicus of proximity
causes the connection of life to diminish…
one gathered the illusion together
in the mirror of familiarity
till it seemed real.

The bones of the old life
Still have fresh raw flesh on them…
Manna for a tenuous, ravenous, traveler.

It’s gone, the real, solid, unforgiving world....
Our barbarian fathers’ struggle to create civilization…
The whole world knows what’s going on now.

The only certain thing is that change is faster.
Six months away feels like two years.

A revolver, a knife, a bottle of beer,
A newspaper, some smoke, a
Derringer in the boot, opium and
in the back pocket, a shot of tequila,
a ham sandwich, an Elvis record on
the juke box…and ice cream,
lace doilies, boxes of candy filled with mystery,
an Old Victorian mansion heavy with ghosts
of an old man’s dreams….but real nice
with a view of the ocean… of the town below
the mountain…restaurant sheltered from the sun
on a lake shore…
a glass of Negra Modelo….yes….
something that looks like something
to live for.