-destination-

I’m what you might call

a semi-reclusive character.

I go out, sure.

sometimes to the burger joint

down the road.  sometimes
ordering "to travel," eating on the bench

watching the women.  sometimes
in the winter I drive to the ocean,

the part at the edge of it where it breaks
like an infinitely horizontal pane of glass
where I stand moaning: “yeah baby, that's it. right there..”

Atlantic's two-times itself,
an inverted right angle
from my line-of-sight, one line to the east,

one line to the south.

so I’m what you might say, at the point of intersection.

call me geometer.

don’t tell me I don’t go out.

ever listen to Threnody
to the Victims of Hiroshima

when you’ve got a headache?

It may seem like the logical time to listen.
but if you're not on fire

you're not even close.

starting at the point of departure

plotting the unresolved destinations

with that screeching from the speakers going on

and after only a couple of miles,

the decision has to be made: east or south.

but what’s interesting is the Threnody

blasting from the cars speakers out the windows
and the aftermath of it seen through the rear-view mirror.

Hyundai, the new Enola Gay.
call me Mr. Tibbets.
don't tell me that I don't go out.

so it's east today.

eastward toward the Cape.

or a drive to Spain if I have a mind.