OWL
Having done what
winter demanded,
we tried to resurrect
ourselves in time
for spring's rehearsal.
A lilac let its
petals be a
metaphor for cruelty.
Nothing stopped the
river in its tracks (the
dam we built was
smaller than its task).
An aging owl lit
out in search of wisdom.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
EXTREME UNCTION
The seventh sense is
the ability to forget
everything in time for
death. Not as easy
as it sounds if
death's in a hurry.
Wipe your feet before
entering your coffin
and discreetly deposit
samples of yourself
in everybody's memory.
Now you are as ready as
it's possible to be under
these troubling circumstances.
The seventh sense is
the ability to forget
everything in time for
death. Not as easy
as it sounds if
death's in a hurry.
Wipe your feet before
entering your coffin
and discreetly deposit
samples of yourself
in everybody's memory.
Now you are as ready as
it's possible to be under
these troubling circumstances.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
UNAVOIDABLE
Avoiding the unavoidable
is a trick no one
in his right mind
can master. If you
want to master it,
you have to abandon
your right mind in
favor of your left
or wrong mind, whichever
one you feel more
uncomfortable in. Once
in the mind you've chosen,
imagine the unimaginable into
a mind it can't be in.
Avoiding the unavoidable
is a trick no one
in his right mind
can master. If you
want to master it,
you have to abandon
your right mind in
favor of your left
or wrong mind, whichever
one you feel more
uncomfortable in. Once
in the mind you've chosen,
imagine the unimaginable into
a mind it can't be in.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
ONLY THAT
If only only weren't the word after if so much of the time. If only this. If only that. It's an obvious waste of only's time, as only only can tell you. Also this. Not quite that. If only that that were the that that it seems unable to be.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
TO THE CHOIRMASTER
for Paul Hoover
According to Paul,
absence exists as
more than a mere
receptacle to deposit
presence in the way
you would a dime into
a blind man's tin cup.
What Paul's trying
to say (I think) is
that absence has
to already be there
for presence to be
able to enter, that absence
is tantamount to being.
for Paul Hoover
According to Paul,
absence exists as
more than a mere
receptacle to deposit
presence in the way
you would a dime into
a blind man's tin cup.
What Paul's trying
to say (I think) is
that absence has
to already be there
for presence to be
able to enter, that absence
is tantamount to being.
Friday, December 17, 2010
THOUGHTS
Some people exist mainly in their minds. I think of Beckett sending himself away so he could be alone. What was he thinking? And of Derrida and Wittgenstein running circles around themselves in an almost silly attempt to recreate themselves in time to destroy what remained with a few choice thoughts.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
THE MYSTERY
One of a poet's jobs, perhaps her or his only real job in this day and age, is to reinsert the mystery.
Friday, December 10, 2010
DE GUSTIBUS NON EST DISPUTANDUM
We don't have to defend what we like or don't like (was it Aristotle who first said so?), unless, of course, we're in an art appreciation course. "I don't know much about art, but I know what I like" is a defense I often hear from people who are also uncommonly proud of having finally mastered the elusive art of breathing.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
RESTLESS
If I were a painting,
I'd probably be an
abstract landscape
with question marks
hidden behind ever bush.
But maybe not. Maybe
I'd be a minimalist
rendering of nothing's
second cousin, or a
knuckle-headed nude
on the wall of someone's
parlor. I'm pretty sure
I wouldn't be a still life.
I'm much too restless for that.
If I were a painting,
I'd probably be an
abstract landscape
with question marks
hidden behind ever bush.
But maybe not. Maybe
I'd be a minimalist
rendering of nothing's
second cousin, or a
knuckle-headed nude
on the wall of someone's
parlor. I'm pretty sure
I wouldn't be a still life.
I'm much too restless for that.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
RON PADGETT
When reading a poem by Ron Padgett, I always wear these glasses I had specially made that allow me to see things upside down, inside out, backwards, and diagonally, all at the same time. It doesn't really help. My mind still somersaults in mysterious ways down the page behind my make-believe binoculars.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
TODAY'S THEOLOGY
Today's theology, with its bumper sticker recommending baby-stepping tippy-toed belief, as opposed to yesterday's mountain-moving plunges into darkness, is subject to periodic review by whoever the current Snake Charmer happens to be when the bell either tolls or refuses to toll.
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