Today

-

I can see my own uncanny face reflected in the
computer screen as I write.    Who is that guy, looming in the background
behind these words?    I’m learning to tell the truth,
like Balaam’s ass, learning to face the truth.
But really the truth is such a small thing.    It’s no big deal.
Once I stole this Bible from a motel in Idaho, in place of it I left a
note in the drawer that said “poopy pants” and in another drawer I left
another note that said “still poopy pants.”    The poor cleaning person.
But I’m sure there have been worse things left in motel rooms.
This poem is starting to be about motels though I meant to
write about today, and truth, but today’s yesterday, and
tomorrow, and truth is a white bird    in the blue cage of the moon.