Traffic in a far distance,
Autumnal walks in mulch.
I close my eyes and make believe
Those engines are the sound of great waves
Turning on your distant shore,
Where Jura-soul enfolded shoals
Find a foreign form.
Just as I closed my eyes, too,
When for a first time I was struck,
Two contusions, and blinding sores,
Then, I imagined I was deported into a land
Of hair-brained herbivorous dinosaurs
And manticores with massive horns
And grainy giant mammoth jaws.
In front of my mustard eyes
It is always November and raining,
And too often of late
I am straining
Why I ever
Rewound the parts of it all.
Too often of late
I have found myself
Accepting my fate,
As I close my eyes,