Anywhere

Yes.

We are anywhere

On the way to anywhere.

What else can it be for us

A cup of hot tea in a cold basement coffeehouse

Intellectuals frowning in their certainty sip their 5 dollar lattes

Berkenstocks over wool socks pierced ears and poney tails on bald men

The ceiling fans are still

Seen through the small leaded windows

The wind blows dead leaves down this side of the street

And the low clouds, iron gray, spatter big drops on whatever earth

Low innocuous jazz music plays nothing doing here or anywhere like here

And I shuffle back and forth and back again out into the rain blown by the wind

Spill the drink

Stumble into the cold

The insects are all dead or dying

Such a short murderous journey of blind instinct

And In my mind I still hold you close as we strip naked in the graveyard

And make ferocious love over the last resting place of an 18 year old who died in 1836

~William DiMichele 9/09 (this is a poem written by my older brother, in response to my poem: Thingless In Wonderment