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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