spring2015

Robert BartuschSwan SongStopped coldWith a sparrow on his shoulder.Stopped shortWith a sorrow to remember.At a lossI have foundThat most endeavorsAre not worth the timeOr the effort.All the sameShe criesAnd all the rivers floodAll the sameShe whinesAnd all the fruit falls off the vine.A thousand days and nights go byAnd I still won’t know how to deal with this.A hundred possibilities.Only one reality.An empty trainAn electric fence.Dead or alive;I thrive on impossibilityI’m pitching electricityWith a smile stapled on.72