THE HOLLYWOOD RAGE PAGE

  In lieu of  my search  which has produced little more than nets of maybes and I suppose,  I find  as I get older that the spiritual part of me finds satisfaction and salvation in the  molecular miracles of everyday things. The vocal piorouetting   of “Because.” The  just arrived pizza box. The arc of a bleacher-bound baseball  The whirl of a waltz composed  by the rain The abracadabra arrival of  spring The jabber of a river The stampede of toddler feet The conspiracies of books The memory  of a sundae  with its slender necked spoons And the daydreams of her naked body that trusted me once to want it.

My legacy Will always be everything I looked forward to He said with a sideways glance and the infinite sonance of  a soaring sigh. Living in this age of eyes Doesn’t distort what I have always seen I can still touch What was always Just beyond my reach The cry of my heart Is the melancholy aria  Of the faraway gull Softened by the sun A sparkle in a telescope Until it lands In the secret place Beneath the fine plumage Of time and shadows Where it can rest its wings and dream Banish and plot And try to remember  The last time  it was  adored by the sky