Columbus

Somebody wrote a song for a girl,
And somebody sailed halfway
Across the world, but none of it makes
Any sense to me, any longer.

I like my toast dirty blonde,
And I like my coffee creamy and sweet.
I'd like the quiet without a head
That didn't always try to compete
With the fragmentary nature of memory.

Lost in a sea of vision. Everyone has
Some agenda. I float about useless.
I perform tasks, try new alphabets,
Decipher pure reason in the mundane.

I do not achieve much with no aim.

I make plays at what the heart is, and
The art of love but it's failing. It's simply
Two feet off the bed, brew the pot,
Calisthenics,
A little mindless toil.
A little reading, shower and dress.
Walk and listen,
Task, confirm, complete.
Home, whisky, read, think.
Leave,
Drink.
Sway, think, think, spatter,
Write, fumble.

And in the morning, before two feet down
I recollect such exchange,
And it is empty of meaning.
Communication disarray.
I think I lost sight of something,
Such that was the essence of my being.