Meanderings

— Like the morning sun you come

And like the wind you go —

I never tried too hard at scholarship:

it seemed a pursuit for those in suits:

pedants, careerists, autodidacts, of all sorts,

accumulators of facts, the stay-at-homers,

the dog-with-a-boners, worrying the hell

out of themselves and acquiring prestige.

i preferred to confront the vast unknown —

that which is so hard to wrap words around –

that which eludes: sight, smell, touch, taste

and sound: that which makes the world go

round and raises the dead and colours leaves

the exact shades of autumn sunshine, esoteric

meanderings, thought that runs into an ox-bow

lake, cavemen’s psilocybe infused worship of 

the dead. All that’s left unsaid. 

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