I guess I thought myself Merlin,
Locked into a great hollow tree,
Stripped of all but my lust,
For there I was,
Dreaming,
Of the rock that closed before me
As I stood, just across the road and east
Of an earlier dream,
In another car lot,
Keeping company with a man
Who could not understand how it was
He could not sell new cars which were not in stock
From an empty lot
And an emptier garage
Surrounded by a barbwire-capped chain link fence;
And as I turned,
Too guilty to walk away (damn fool that I was),
I stepped deeper into the building,
Through it,
Past the proverbial back of the lot
And into the gray limestone rock face
Of Bridgeport Hill
Which closed neatly behind me --
And left me staring at the gray
From the backside,
Retrospectively wondering if I were alone.

11-30-99
 

Index     Painting the Archetype