but the people I ask have an indefinite way about them, or

they act as if they would rather not be bothered

but finally one of them will give me confusing

and misleading directions.

I follow the directions but they lead

nowhere: strange hills and curling freeways, and I

have no idea where I am.

at times I will be walking, at other times I will

be driving my car

or finally I will lose my car and then I

will ask other indefinite and misleading

people

where is my car?

and they will give me vague answers,

they won’t say, we don’t know where your car is, they will

pretend that it is not missing or they will refuse to tell me

where it is.

then I will give up on the car, I want only to return

to where I live but the people I ask will give me more

unreal directions

until I finally give up on them.

I walk and walk along, it is always broad daylight, just before

noon but as I walk I do not recognize any of my

surroundings.

the air seems very bright and clear but it also seems

somehow false

as I walk and walk along.

when I awaken I feel much

better, of course.

I know where I am, here is the bed, the walls,

here is my wife in bed next to me.

and I think, well, there it was, the same

dream.

over and over again.

I get up and go to the bathroom, look in the mirror,

scratch myself, come back out.

and then, strangely enough, in a short while the dream is almost

forgotten.

returning to an old love

well, here the computer is down again for

the count and I am back with the good old IBM electric.

it really doesn’t matter as long as I have something

to get the word down with.

I get physically and mentally ill when I am

locked away from the

word,

and at least the IBM—

this machine—doesn’t suddenly gulp pages

and pages of words

that you have celebrated the hours with,

words that vanish

forever.

this machine is slow but safe

and I welcome it back like the good friend it still

is.

I hope that it forgives me

and arranges more good luck for me.

now it’s balking a bit,

looking me over.

come on baby, I say,

do it.

do it again.

I’m sorry about that whore,

you warned me about her

but I wouldn’t listen.

now we’re back together.

come on, baby,

do it

again.

be a lady

tonight.

cool fur

one of our fattest

cats

CRANEY

sleeps on his back

just about

anywhere

his legs sticking up

into the air.

he knows that we will

never step on

him

but doesn’t know

how nervously

and incompletely we

humans

sleep.

and live.

old?

I’ll be 73 in August,