Friday, November 19, 2010

Delicious With Dark Bread

The sun just below eastern hills, the bright tumescence of night-wandering cumuli sucking the orange fire. What clarity beneath the maple trees, stripped of every leaf! Barbed wire fence for a witness.

Thus does one stanza beg another. The mug is unaware of and does not care for the coffee it contains, thus solving all my religious problems. Why ask again what has already been answered?

Ron asked who was speaking thus and thus and the answer was I am. Moldavia, because of my accent. A sudden profluence of pronouns that signifies what.

Bear stew is greasy – less so with yearlings - and delicious with dark bread. We spotted an empty room and filled it caroling. What clarity in the white cold, watching the older dog sniff the dry leaves.

One minute Jesus is wiping tears from your eyes, the next he doesn't even know the internet exists. Love letters to Emily Dickinson. Thus christened, thus this.

Can you hear in the distance how snow accumulates, anticipates? Gather ye rose buds, it's time to make some tea. What clarity in my dreams, once I handed them over to a family of thieves.

Oh you, reading as always, with one hand on your hidden heart! Oh you and your ashes, you and your crumbs.

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