Robert Crumb

Departure of a Giving Land

my morning wreckage

brings gulls to the

wine hearted waters

still roiling with a mind’s

desire,

grasping out with unfeeling

fingers,

everything slips through,

my glances had taken me

beyond beauty and the pallid

embers of dusk,

leaving the night and it’s cast

of iron stars

to be bold and unrelenting,

i rose on feet

more made of clay

than months before,

shrugging of what had been

dreams of scents and color,

the day would be a clear passage

i would move calm and sure,

other days will be as good,

only the mind has knowing walls

retaining the moisture of those

things to be forgotten,

a dampness that sometimes

rises to the surface,

a reflection of eyes on the face

holds it at bay,

as summer is drawn on ropes

further away.