Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Tyranny Of Pyrite

The plow rusted so we left it in the forest. Potatoes, always potatoes. And the blackened crust of roast beef was best, like salty leather.

To follow or linger, those are your options. There's a way in which creative minds can falter, let you down. I always took comfort in the closet, its bundled umbrellas and dark.

Kittens peered wildly from beneath the couch. "He's reading Friendly Fire." The drive to and from school was best, so long as whoever sat with me kept their mouth shut.

Squint and certain winter landscapes become lunar. A slope of hill that calls to mind the globe on which we are always spinning. Pumpkins symbolize wealth, pilgrims discipline.

In the second house we more or less forgot about the sea. Reading love letters while deer hunting. Green M & M's, a signet.

Hammer and nails, what would we do without them? The first time I saw her I was pissing at midnight and she was outside trailing her fingers up and down the willow tree my father had just planted. We honored a rich uncle for no other obvious reason.

Did it really happen or are we talking here about photographs? The tyranny of Pyrite yields up!

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