Monday, August 1, 2011
The Men I know Did
The ferns trembled in the rain. I sat up, took notice, paid attention. You may begin to sense that you are here for a reason. The yoga victims could not respond. What in hell is enlightened poetry? No identity but in time. The new roof thrummed gently in the first October rain. Dust on the spider web, a sickle in the moon. One tinkers with the sentence, one struggles with a language. Your cruise ship is my laden canoe. The wake up call is not what you think it is. Nor are books for children. A sunflower way of seeing the world. Birth rags fell out of the closet which drew us up, which made us think. A rhythm inherent in the caution of deer. Unused train tracks circled the old neighborhood. My father cried a few hours after his death and was thus inconsolable. You find out where you're going by going and not stopping to talk it over. Pabst Blue Ribbon late morning, it was that kind of night. Frying stale bread, and not saying, and building a life the way the men I know did it.