Tim Collman's Page

Summer's drowning
and we cannot save it

but the heat is here
and it is a humid

hot death, a
one two blow

that shocks us to the soil.

Tony said it
might shock the newspapers

I doubt they'd notice

no, not a
man like me

not one, a fool
enough to say these things

no, they wouldn't notice

more than a chill
in the summer breeze.

Maybe it's peace that I seek but
a better man than I said it best
"I've had fun, and this isn't it"

so maybe it's the storm
or the lack of love or home
or maybe that I have had both

only to find myself
unanswered and alone.

It is alarming
to find
that no one
or almost no one
understands this
or that
and their importance

it is like the
or in on how it
gives it or anything
that, this, an, the, a
way
of understanding
or of knowing

of not tripping over
those breaks that so many
make to save 'space'
or to add the
possibility of a meaning
that isn't there
and never will be.

To them I say
there is only one
essential question,
are you going to say it?
and if you are
then say it
or don't even touch the page.

and if no rain falls
is it a desert?

and if nothing grows
and if the dry earth
cracks its skin

and if it is insurmountable
and irresistible
and isolated
and nothing beyond itself

is it a desert?

if the nights are cold
and the moon alone
and every sound silent
on the sand and stone

and if all is well
as the sun hits hell
and if all is beautiful
but dead and still

is it a desert?

am I a desert?