Saturday, July 23, 2011

The Sentence, Your Roof, A Life

The urge to create, the generative impulse. A list of things for later? Four clouds, two colors. Traffic sounds. A mosquito perhaps, fighting the breeze, but I am no entomologist.

I did once see a dermatologist. One mushroom blossomed nearly to twenty, marring the green surface of the neighbor's lawn. Did I write the stranger I sometimes wave at when social custom dictates? God bless you. You and your muzzled nostalgia.

Try seeing it - the sentence, your roof, a life - from someone else's perspective. I no longer identify as a believer. Corporate responsibility- sounds like an elective in a curriculum for clowns. Your bended knee, my pucker up.

There's nobody out there to teach or forgive but you wouldn't know it by me. He wrote to the muse, couldn't you just leave me alone for once? Old men playing bocce, happy in the sunlight. It's math, not a breeze. The universe scrambled and came up with this?

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