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Shadow of Doubt

September 1






Shadow of Doubt



The long dark cast covers my face, my thoughts, my life; it is the light blocked by my skepticism.  To tear down the obstruction means a profound change of my internal architecture; walls will have to be knocked down, windows installed.  The poor mouthed structure takes better to the steamroller than I wish it would.  I fear the loss of my hideout, panic at the thought of a life in the sun.  Skepticism builds a paper world; opaque, weak yet frightening to tear apart.









Rub the place where you land







Power is not production and production is not art.

I have to keep pulling the car to the side of the road

so I don’t miss the train of words sent to me,

from out of the dark blue life I am on the edge of living

but I still want to go home.


I will never give up these roadside excursions

into the river of thought though I do wonder why

the cable shoved into my house never gets this channel?

Why is the connection so strong on the bus not the bed?


The minefields of thought explosions seem seeded anywhere

as long as it’s at least five miles away.

Power is not production and production is not art.

I let it pour through me---it is not mine to sort.