go home

the notebook has been vomited onto the page
the answer was nausea and you'd win a prize
what is this life i lead?
where do i go when i sleep? what do i see?
where will i take myself next?
into fantasia, into bliss, into miraculous forthcoming mist
into barrens and heartlands, waste intrepid
through mortar and rock and towers and chalk
for the answer is not paved on the path, nor on the board
it is in the heart, in the stone
that lies on the beach, at autumns turn
capturing our methods, our essence, our tapes
where will we go when this all ends?
i hope the one true answer is that we all,
go home