The Left Column

     
  It is not suicide to say
     that I'd like all my worries
        to die away
      the kind over which I fret and bay
    barking at my friends.

  And lifetimes that I'd
       leave behind
  the endless jones
      to never find . . .
  the inspiring thing to say.

   At the pond you can see the wake
       of the swimming varmints.
   No, he won't let them alone.
      The fog bank forms there
      descends upon the towns 
   of the valleys lower down.

  Letting go of that worry let me
      finally get out and be free
   of the worry what is felt
       up that hill.
   He feels it still.

    Winter comes.
     Burries the car that Nev left in that
      far away field.
   Some day Nev will come back
       to claim it
      as his own
    because of love


       from poem page 147


Vehicle in need of Salvage.