Focus (New York July 1998) Look, down there, The long tunnel of the past. Tight, sharp-eyed youth at the small end Of the telescope. Wide-waisted, wasted age, Here, at the big, round, yawning end. It's hard to look back. So many memories have scraped Across my eyes, have roared in my ears My senses now Are scratched and scored. Scarred, scared, my soul is badly packed (or pocked) with reminiscence. But this is clear. That younger me, striving for perfection - Of art, of moral, of principle, and all that jazz and jive - Knew what he wanted Saw it clear-eyed. Centered, at the crux, He was in the moment, focussed. Which is what I can't be now. The present is bleary, my focus is all past. Back to Poems lists . [Image]