Walking Out an Imaginary Ale House on Sunday

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My half-numb preoccupation
Steals out my lagoon-like eyes.
It is two o’ clock in the pre-dawn light
At the end of another night. Without memory

I walk. Is this that waitress? Of flashes of
The eve before. In steam comes part
Of her crimson in changing lights; by the bar side
Of the far side she smiles, signs and slurs

“How do you do?”. Is this ceramic made of stuff
That will last my weight if we fall now, from
Overweight and from gravity’s final letting go:
Will I smash? To little pieces? Or flow

Like the rivers do, in silence, once the driest days are through
Without much yearning. Had I wings
Then would I flew, in the distance I am standing
My eyes devouring you. Vegetarian.

I teach theory in my room
To my porcupine. He plays darts with the dartboard
And you speak of William Tell and me you hold.
Was that apple that he pierced preserved and sold? I wonder

When I am alone and thereupon.


Point: In 1999, RL Gangewatte told me [vihanga] that I ought to change my name from what it was to “William”. I neveer asked him why he felt I sould do so. Nor did he volunteer the information. I haven’t met RLG since 2003, maybe. Hope he’s doing well. Wherever he is.


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