The Fifth Friday of August
The fifth Friday of August this year
Falls on September 2nd.
Would that the whole year were August
On paper, as it is in my mind
In this way we could retain
Our lexico-numerical sanity
Since Seven can never really be Nine
And Eight is not Ten, et cetera...
If that is what middle age is all about
Then I will have none of it
Better to be on the road with irradiated eyes
That can’t avoid the Sun
When the road ahead leans into the skies
And so it was...
Dazed and bedazzled from the Sun
My hard-Scrabble mind sought numerical conquest.
I should have thought to lean back
Into the quality and possibilities of the prose
As a way of rejuvenating the fractured mind
In a world of sterile numbers
Can there really be such a thing
As as an aqueduct of ideas
Or a network thereof
Connecting oceans of thoughts
With groundswells of deeds?
Lacan has been on my mind —
Or rather, under it —
The unfathomable semantic usurpations of yesteryear
Have had permanent effects,
Some good (by reflexion), some bad.
The dusty Winds of History
Blow across my path
Calling to mind how we once stopped
At The Baths.
We stepped out of a Mirage
So close to the white picket fence
Seeking deep-fried simplicity
And enjoyed it for a time,
Once upon a time
And for that I’ll be forever grateful
(Even if you’ll never know.)