Just himself

I must be hungry
The state of feeling unique
Seems never to release me
From my obligations
Bowing out once, bowing out twice,
bowing out three times.

The limits set by your banners
of pure black and white-
they demand attention
no I-Pod disengagement
no noise on the set
no palace of tears

built on the sand
of a man-made beach

Polyphemus
the being they love
is not only fertile
but horny
a river

leaving the rest of us
to sulk
in an open-heart surgery
of imagination

We leave this table

with two pearls of wisdom

One, just do it.

The other stronger
but subtler

and dustier
A medieval code
about family
That translates poorly
in the slosh
of Ravioli in tin foil
and baked hot dogs.

When I leave this place
on my migration south
with the mindless birds
I take with me
Nothing but bits
I've collected in all available pockets
With which to build my nests
and some tentative promises.

Off I go to translate and form
Who I might become this time.

This collage is titled "7" and is approximately

6" X 9." I finished it last week.