broken promise

I am a naturalized citizen of the time
having found degrees of self
in the act of searching

I am an immigrant on america's shore
wanting to believe

these fragments have been scattered
on scarritt street for many years
I found detente and put the pieces to use
in the jigsaw

if you only were to come to me
this afternoon
the promise could be mended
I am serious about this

Once again, a statement regarding broken vows. Well, a woman who calmly cheats on her husband time and again, can hardly be held responsible for breaking a vow or two along the way. And therein lies my failure, the inability to see and accept the actual person living in the flesh. I suppose this is actually the reason so many romances fail. I am saying that my vision of Alison was probably never realistic, and certainly not true. Even now, I understand that I am too harsh on her; making her far more consciously responsible than she actually was. I have mutual friends who would tell me that she was just another slightly brainy blonde chick who dabbled. Who can say that they aren't exactly right? Even Alison would probably agree with that statement to some extent. It's not like I'm Allen Ginsberg, idolizing Neal Cassady. Though if you've ever read Cassady's novel project you might wonder what the idolization was about. I come to understand that so much of this is really self-directed. Even if this is only a mood tonight I think I need to point out that I am the one posting poems from thirty years ago. She has a life entirely devoid of me and probably of my memory to a great extent. It often surprises me how little people I have known remember of their pasts. I remember far too much; I understand that. Is it a positive or a negative? Damned if I know. But I have to accept the person I have turned out to be. In any case I feel what I feel about Alison and I feel bad that this all lays under the soil of my life. Somewhere below this a river runs.