Gouging Out My Eyes
I guess I want to be so old that I
can study a clear day. We sit in
a mess hall, peeling spuds for a
pea soup. Barrooms chug off on
the hour to search in the mountains
for excitement. Churches distract us
with latrine duty. With each silver
sliver of hair or splinter of a wrinkle,
I believe the fog has lifted, and go
crazy with my binoculars.
But oo the shuffle!... Life
can survive on its shavings.