174th

the fact that, even though he has the mental capacity of that pop can (no, that one. no the one over there. never mind) he always made an effort to understand me when i talked 'smart'. twice in the last week i have started talking about stuff at work (movies, books, whatever) from a critical perspective (hellooooo - advanced education in cultural studies and literary analysis here folks) and had someone tell me that they stopped listening when i started talking about that "crap". it makes me miss people who are interested in the stuff i know. lots.

for example this lovely girl wrote a poem i really liked. it made me think of denise levertov, and her rhythms and way with words. however, i have no one to really talk about it with - to read the poem too and talk about how i can listen to the words and close my eyes and hear the hiss of the tires on the pavement; how i can almost - almost - lean back in my chair and look to my right and see the flash flash blur of the streetlights reflected in the raindrops on the car window. so, i'll just post the levertov poem here.

merritt parkway

As if it were
forever that they move, that we
keep moving -

Under a wan sky where
as the lights went on a star
pierced the haze & now
follows steadily
a constant
above our six lanes
the dreamlike continuum...

and the people - ourselves!
the humans from inside the
cars, apparent
only at gasoline stops
unsure
eyeing each other

drink coffee hastily at the
slot machines & hurry
back to the cars
vanish
into them forever, to
keep moving -

Houses now & then beyond the
sealed road, the trees / trees, bushes
passing by, passing
the cars that
keep moving ahead of
us, past us, pressing behind us
and
over left, those that come
toward us shining too brightly
moving relentlessly

in six lanes, gliding
north & south, speeding with
a slurred sound -