It seems as if the rivers are too low
For me to set out on the barge
And the trains are running slow
And the roads are closed for some reason.

It is one of those nights that you wish
Someone were around with whom
To converse and spill and sputter
Some things that are clogging up my mind.

High and low.
Phone doesn't get through.
The Internet reveals nothing.
Smoke signals lost in the night.

You just keep questioning yourself
And putting yourself on the stand
For a never-ending cross-examination
Consisting mostly of soliloquies.

Thucydides telling lies in obscure
Ancient Greek and translators
And scholars today using those lies
To advance petty concerns.

This is what sits in the puddled path.
This is what I mention?

So where am I going with this?
Nowhere, apparently, and just then
Only as far as I went today, which was
To the woods out back for a piss.