It can’t happen here (1970 approx.)

An uncertain combination

of numbers wires and fingers

brought your voice to mine


it found me lying with nomadic 

echoes of my tongue


so we roamed through 

the illogical backyards

in the night


chased by telephone poles

down laughing hallways

where the doors just swing and slam


with a click

I returned to another room


where a friend asked me

what was going on


I looked for him

through tangles of impossible kelp 


sometimes there are no words to reach me


Note: I have about 30 folders of old poems dating back to 1969. I have been intending to go back and look at them, see if some would be worth posting here. A lot of the early ones almost certainly involved smoking something…. This poem, I think, dates back to 1970, first year university.

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