I have been here before,
this land of maybes.
Withered trees,
brown grass,
and untried desires.
I am tired of not knowing,
I am tired of being blind.
I cannot see behind her eyes
through to the jungle in her heart.
She is a closed door,
I stand keyless before her.

While Johnson hems and haws,
I dream that I am not impotent
tired and lonely.
Above me,
the clouds blow across the sun.

AcB 9.16.00