Here's another tidbit:


Pre-albic Image #2
4-98,10-98

I close the dark house like a box.
Carpet, blankets,
Sleeping people and creeping cats
Are inside; I leave them.
I walk into the bigger silence
Where the interstate breathes like a sleeping giant,
Just audible.
Clouds are blue under a waxing gibbous.
These are low in the west, and the rest is speckled black.
Cars sleep along the street, staring with unblinking eyes.
My shoes scratch on gravel, and the trees rustle.
Streetlights light the street for no one,
And a traffic signal
Signals no traffic to stop and none to go.
By the market,
Bread trucks prowl and wait.
Bundles of newspapers adorn the doorstep of the bookstore.
Dark shop windows are like turned-off television sets
With clothed mannequins and set tables trapped inside.
The moment is cool and quiet, and it is all mine.
I caress it, roll in it, and look at it
Until I punch in and surrender it.