I dreamt of ex-girlfriends and motels in the desert

I smoke a short cigarette and read in damp cool Sunday air, my mind never very far away from responsibilities that have nothing to do with smoking or reading. And when I am studying my geology or philosophy, I day dream about smoking a short cigarette and reading. I think about how this is life, how mundane it all becomes, realize somewhat begrudgingly and with some hope that this is not where it all ends up. But it is not where anything begins either. Stuck in between a beginning and an ending. It is easier when something vast and mysterious begins to have hope; when some crazy epoch nears its end you can daydream wistfully about how you will take your new clarity with you and do things differently. In the middle, there is nothing to hold on to.

as if
existence were little more
than a wish
to know
what is means to be at home
in America

the night birds find
the face of the moon
to their liking

if everyday could be like morning

as if
one could watch dew
with little more than sense

straddling fences unburned