I'm not an Academic
Cannot give a lecture
When I die there will not be
A Witherell Conjecture

Once I was a teacher
Teacher of the tweens
Now I live alone
Rothko blues and greens

Women are unkind
Smoke gets in your eyes
I.P. Freely
George W. Lies

2 prayers for Chicago
3 for Susan Meek
7 for my sons
7 days a week

     ****. Nerd. Absurd. Geek.

I’d like to be free
I’d like to be a dove
Fly from my tree
And believe in love

I’d like to see a God
I’d like to be like the rest
Not be so odd
I’d like to be the best

I’d like to want life
I’d like to write prose
See the end of strife
I’d like to know repose

I’d like to follow through
I’d like to wave goodbye
Maybe start anew
With a different kind of I

Patterns everywhere, but what to foresee?
There’s Innumerable things to compare,
This OCD: a familiar bee, another tree,
If I only had the key,
Could make everyone aware,
I’m sure they would agree

Uneven roads,spilt coffee
How loathsome, how unfair,
All these patterns seem to be.
So many things to see;
And now what’s over there?
And what does it mean to me?

Their meanings flee;
Ignoring every prayer
From this humble devotee.
So now here is my decree:
I’ll renounce, forswear,
Over and over, plea and plea,
‘Til someday it lets its hold from me.

The mind that believes the past was positive is distressed now, as it was then.