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.


Rich Murphy