A poem for Alisa

This is from a journal page around this time in 1982. Who knows what was going on then. Sitting here at the edge of reality, Gazing across a gray and dim today Into foggy futures looking part from A Monopoly Board and part from a “Yes” album cover, Dismal dregs of old brewings filter past The visible, miserable present And the incubation inevitably arouses Those slick self examinations that recur Whenever the space avails. I know I really wonder but, I wonder if I really know. Leaning back, directing the thought and stare Across an unexplained universe of gray matter, Answers flow easily where there are no questions, Decisions, remedies, excuses, programs and plots Readily develop without scenario. And a smugly, ugly twilight highlights An ordinary day, steeped in steps, framed in faults, Submerging in a misty, moist horizon. The only thing constant Is change itself. I know I don’t really care Who cares if I don’t really know. Walking away from the edge of the day, With the lingering gray beginning to fray, Reasonable reality, softly confident, Knows the gentle, evident edge Cannot hold my attention long, That the extensive expensive luxury Of profuse illusion, confusion Saved from the gray, gloomy edge, Would damply diffuse and resolve. And I think I started out To start to think it out.

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