Tijuana Gringo | |
Daniel's Journal | by Daniel Charles Thomas |
4 January 2002. Friday. |
Well, at last, after several days, including new year's eve and then yesterday after return from Tijuana border crossing, I have been working and realigning the we be page. We be here, now. Web E. Hee hee.
Done. Done with the compass, done with the chart (Emily Dickenson). Rowing in eden, ah, the sea. Might I but moor tonight in thee....
That reminds me of a poem I wrote some years back, with the line: rough wooden boats digging down into the earth... [I should mail it to a science fiction magazine]....
Might I but moor tonight in thee. No. I can't see her tomorrow night. We would have spent the night together but now not. My parents want me to keep on watching their house until they return. Such is filial obligation. They don't understand that I am giving up the camels for them. The camels of the three kings, those three who will come tomorrow and find no one at home in my little apartment across Fourth Street from the park. Tere and I will not be sleeping there, together, when the Magi ride by across the sky, dangling from the belt of Orion in the chill winter sky.
Once, when I was a child, I thought I saw the camels....
No more. Now I am a man and think of grown up things. (Saint Paul).
Too bad....
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