Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Wedded To Yet

There aren't that many places where one has to kneel.

A chipmunk scurried between pews in the country church.

Ethereal vs. earthly.

Vs. reading lessons.

The computer grinds along, not quite smoking, thus disclosing our fatal commitment.

One carries a flashlight, turns from the road.

In the distance, dogs howl, heedless now of Sir Oracle.

The inherent danger of stairs, I mean stars.

In my dream, everyone was laughing at my writing and prayer hut, and encouraging me to expand it, and all the proposed dimensions were divisible by six.

The chicken or the egg is not an irrelevant question.

Part two begins with a label.

Seven students misunderstand the witches in Macbeth, one gets them.

Would you crawl across cut glass to recover your wedding ring?

Obviously some symbols matter so say it.

The page fills with notes and then what?

One wishes Gandhi and Dorothy Day would get out of the way.

Like kirtan leaders with ideas for a new age.

Another crappy poem by a man who might have known better.

Yet the morning passes with two distinct visits from Christ and so I can't complain.

I who am wedded to yet.

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