The inside corner . . .

What not to do can't not be done.
As hard as I've tried,
my agreement stands in my denial,
while white-capped breakers turn languid, clear & slide away.

Languishing through the decades,
aloneness set harder than stone,
I reach out, still believing
she's out there somewhere.

Gave up on "American Woman,"+
but can't get past its borders.
Though millions come this way
and prosper more than many here.

Sorry, I strayed from the point.
I'm sure you see why now.
Even a flint napper+ would walk away
while I keep eyes on horizon below the moon,

. . . with pain of languish like pain inured.