The Thing About Happiness

The thing about happiness
is,
it always ends up unpacked on a cold night.
On a lonely night,
somewhere short of the
high
where a bird flies between the stars and the moon.

It is no consequence to the mind, no burden,
the memories of Florida in 1975.

It all still remains,

long after the waves ate up all the sand,

and removed the tiki bar from its foundations.

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2 Comments

Filed under History, Outlaw poetry, poetry

2 responses to “The Thing About Happiness

  1. I’m just catching up on your recent poems this morning. I really get a clear picture from this one. I grew up in FL and this reminds me of evenings when I could hear the birds splashing on the lake and crickets, reminds me of the feeling that you’re never as happy as you were there.

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