Journey aka OR7

      What's his likeness amongst the north/south divide, amongst the
shifting winter light at high noon?
What's his call in the ghost of his likeness?  When is the full moon
full?  When will the warmth of his paw be a blessing,
his eyes friendly, his look the look of a god?
When will the wild forever be wild in the high rough, in the fallen
bark, in the scrub grass?  How far
will he see from afar in the snow haze?  How far?

Days of Rome

Days of nothingness
Days of clear skies the temperature descending
Days of no telephone calls or all the wrong ones
Days of	complete boredom and nothing 
        is happening
Days of	1967 coming to a close in the frigid condition of chest 
        cold and cough
        drops
Days of	afternoons in the life of a young girl 
        not being on time
Days of daydreams exploding
Days of utter frustration
Days of	my film being cursed and myself 
        with the curse never lifting
Days of closed windows to keep the cold
        out the livingroom warm
Days of avoiding lunch for a phone-call
        with change of plans for the day
Days of posting letters
Days of no mail today
Days of fatigue and amphetamine highs
Days of Charles Edward Ives
Days of the 4:00 pm doldrums
Days of wonder drugs to challenge the common cold
Days of utter frustration
Days of forgetting