so many scratches
so many lines scrawled here and there;
I carry this old notebook,
forgetting it often, though it lay there
peruse your life
look at the grooves
that one
I am no seeker
no spiritual man
the seeking stopped once I realized discontent
like repeating chords
scraps of days
endless bits of things
attracting and repulsing me in quivers
just one endless loop into tomorrow
living without a clue:
that's me
my dumb innocence
I used to look back and read what I wrote
and linger on it because it was raw and young
today I think I'm old
CRA
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