late september down at the docks
is always fulla sadness.
closed up in the civic, parked with
steve stills shoutin' "love the one you're with" over the radio,
car otherwise quiet like a long sleep.
little rounded waves lapping
empty moorings,
the boats all dragged out & shrink-wrapped
'til next year
and fall comin' on in earnest now
with summer gone;
skies grey but sunset stains the clouds red like
th' cheeks of a drunk who cannot brave sobriety
as the cold settles the hills in full & even
a good book (big sur - duluoz)
not doin' any good b/c that old wino jackie k. keeps makin'
a mess o' things and goin' back to the sauce. worn out.
~
O this silence! (O this awful ******' waiting!)