Memo to self:

Undergrads are too young.

(no subject)

most of the day
we were at the machinery
in the dark sheds that the seasons ignore
I held the levers
that guided the signals to the radio
but the words I received
random code, broken fragments from before

out in the trees
my reason deserting me
all the dark stars cluster over the bay
then in a sudden moment
I lose control
and at last I am part of the machinery
(where are you? the belldog, where are you?)
and the light
disappears
as the world makes its circle through the sky