i am reminded of Winesburg, Ohio…Miller’s favorite tale…a different America…a different land…this one is foriegn…
yet…it is still a land where autumn is autumn…leaves fade …souls hunger…always…always…
this chill…frozen bones from unrealized dreams…could’ve would’ve should’ve…we never leave home…never…
it is 8:00 in the morning…coffee comforts…so does Whitman…do we seek solace there…of course not…
words no longer suffice…sentences become sound-bites…music…well…music…
i think of Winesburg, Ohio on this fall day…a Midwestern wind of poetry keeping me warm…maybe…one can hope…
winter is coming…
