This Growing Stack of Postcards, From The Last Place I Forgot Where I Was

To whom ever is out there,

Who remains unconcerned, Unperturbed,

This is a postcard from a roadside attraction, I picked up the send your way, to commemorate

The Last Place I Forgot Where I Was

It’s not to say, “Wish You Were Here”

It’s not to ask you, should you care

If you might tell me how to send this note

With some voluminous green token of envy, like hills of grass waving in a light sunswept breeze,

to signal to you in your rest and ease,

That you are the mind state, recovered, which I wish, why, wherefore, here, to for– , to SEE

It’s just a funny picture of a man without a head

He’s become ALL HAT, like a surreal photograph

of a Magritte

Do not worry, at least

Not yet

‘ce n’est pas moi’

I haven’t the control the recognize, I have no such comfortable stance, to use my head for less than a hatrack,

I, as I struggled to say, and sent even less, I don’t know

Where I’m At

The man who pumped the gas,

Revved me up by offering me a complimentary map

He suggested I change oils

Washed the viewscreen

And kicked my tires

If, behind the wheel, I had his enthusiasm, his go-get-em-cheer and vapid smile,

Like a spokesperson for industry and fuel and that stealing-copper-wire-from-the-walls-toothy grin,

I might discover in myself some place to go

And a turning point inside me pivots on a shame

I understand

This is the first step

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