Condition Report

Usually I can catch a small bird, but this one defeats me. I decide to stun it, kill it if necessary, I really just need some sleep, now that all is said and done. Would have skipped dinner, but I'd brought half of lunch home, so I eat a sandwich and drink a glass of milk, then sit in the dark, holding a tennis racket. After a while I realize the damned bird has either died, from throwing itself against windows, or is napping somewhere, and turn on a light. Late night blues on NPR, John Lee Hooker, my old addiction; patterns are apparent but that's fine, I recognize I'm prey to certain moods. Doesn't mean I'm not a nice guy. Strong as the sea, strong as a rope, hoist yourself on your own petard. There was this guy at Janitor College, Maxamillion Maxx, didn't sleep at all, as far as we could tell. He was playing chess all the time, ten or twelve games at any one time. He carried one of those magnetic sets around in a bag, a garish beach bag, and he'd stop, in the middle of a conversation, set up a position, and make a move. Knight to King Four. I played him to a draw one time and I thought he was going to kill me. I don't like games, prefer the real thing. Things are convoluted, even the simple can be broken into component parts. I was watching the water go over the spillway this afternoon and things would jump out. Objects, I suppose you'd call them, bits of detritus, that would catch the light. Defract, act as a prism. Stare into the middle distance and when you lose focus things start to sparkle. Calls attention to attention. What I've learned on the highway is don't lift you head. How do you know when it's too late to learn? Maxx would slap my hand with a ruler, ask me what I was thinking. I'd be one move ahead, but locked there, unable to proceed: I can't predict the future. The moon is just a slice tonight. Even language is a disappointment. Sit at the welcome one of these days. I'm going to string it out. You and yours, we're all trapped, I'm going to string it out. I'll be good, I promise, but I do have some reservations. Grace is not a given, not fireworks on the forth of July. What did Emily say? I'm fallen to my knees.

Tom

The last train home,
wash your hands and go,
the last train home.