one to one;

Nobody but me in here tonight

And maybe tomorrow, too

Probably the next day

And further on until there’s a definitive

You can call it

Rolling reality, unmistakable

For anything besides that which

Is no longer turntable speculation;

Future handing over eventuality to present

And giving it stage

No longer throwing me through theory

­

But I’ve flown through history all this time

Seen the balance of martyr and maestro

Playing sounding games as communication

Melded and altered into social sciences

& invisible frequencies.

It’s been different strokes for different folks

For 10,000 years;

All the weary-eyed billiard balls

Called men and women that were all me.

­

I love the image of you in I

Although this town is more than big enough

For the two of us.