You Want It

It's the same things

over again in this cyclical

track,

everything the same.

The same problems,

the same places,

the same attitudes,

the same love.

And I know,

I should stop complaining,

get off my ass,

and do something

to make my life

better

for me.

But I don't know how.

Because I have tried.

And it didn't work.

And I want to sleep for a thousand years,

wake up when the trees are beautiful again,

wake up under green leaf-light

and be beautiful.

I want thing to make sense

and be as they should.

To walk under stars

and across streams

and into cities

and out of them again

all across the criss-cross

roads of America

into the wild night

and into the sea,

because I am in a grotesque eternal

longing for its tidal embrace

and its smell and its beauty

and simple complexity.

Because there is nothing

here.

I'm not sure there ever was.

I'm not sure there will ever be.

But there isn't any breaking free.

Only a wicked captivity setting

in closer everyday

and I can't understand it,

because it is drowning me,

drowning me.

I want to stand on a hill in the wind

and the spring and look at what is here.

I want to sit up late with all the windows open

and listen to the air conditioners again,

and make sense of my life.

I want to write prose again.

And I want to kiss you, 

god, I want to kiss you 

in some soul-encompassing way,

I want to somehow kiss you and

make you understand.

I want to fling myself 

into the sea

and know it's all

going to work out just fine.

I know none

of this humanly possible.