Friday, January 23, 2004

From the files

And now, a sestina, dug from the ancient vaults.

Mimic Escape Over Radio, Through Pictures

Returning through
The late night hours on the radio,
Thinking about the failed escape
With my mind fixed on an ancient picture,
The brown-tinged mimic
Of a life I thought was over.

Here, looking over
The dash, through
The spotted windshield as the highway distances mimic
Water, no radio
Can contend with my mind's absurd picture,
Looking again for an escape.

I think it's time we shall escape.
The nowhere blues aren't even half over
And my eyes rest on the picture
Taken before she'd been through
Too many broken dreams. And on the radio
Play songs for the lonely - heroes we'd like to mimic.

I learned once to mimic
Others' successes. But that was no escape
From long hours staring blank at the radio
Dial, trying for mindlessness over
The soft static. And through
Failures, I see new details in my own picture.

I want to take a picture
Of life, somehow mimic
The grand and the terrible, see through
Faces - smiles and frowns - all trying to escape
That force which drives them. But over and over
Again, time calls, like a forgotten song on the radio.

I want to turn that radio
Loud, and find a picture
That looks like me, but over
The years it faded. I want to mimic
Those desperately seeking an escape
And triumph through

Humor, triumph through my songs played on the radio.
There's no escape - life is written in pictures
That mimic the truth of times long since over.