1997

I don’t remember saying,

I’m a natural man.

I couldn’t pretend (and make it believable)

Something so grand.

 

The course of my days

Run counter to my dreams

I think I see them wave

At each other in passing.

 

There’s now no fierceness

In my sneer

When I find the energy.

Most often I’m in the nether-world

Of clouds, drifting between

Remembering and forgetting

Hoping and dying.

 

I often find myself

Waiting for magic

To whisk me away

To some paradisaical habitat

A climate of my liking.

 

All my mysteries

Have been revealed

Bringing to level ground

The curve and course

That marks me.

 

 

                                    -jim hill (4-23-03)