Travel Notes

Posted in nothing special by maggie on 2012/02/08

— 1 —

   Finally you weary of me, of me, of me,
   so weary of me, of holding me close,
   of me being real, of what me is yours.

   West out again through the Lincoln,
   indistinguishable from other seeds
   reemerging as weeds thrown into wheat
   looking to the fire for purification,
   tripped up, old road, random inflection.

   Roz sends samples of her soup spices,
   which is doing more than she has to
   but she'll be on leave next few weeks
   so thought corners might get cut off,
   then as I would be seeing you around
   she said you would know what to do,
   she wouldn't need to know what else.

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