Friday, April 6, 2012

That Dickinsonian Slant

I spent the afternoon watching cowbirds at the feeder and remembering what R. said that time we were out looking for eagles: if there's ever just one bird left in the world it'll be that one. Pie is a winter affect offered mainly - somewhat oddly - in summer. We live in a small house and so accommodations often have to be made. Don't be ashamed of virtue! He wrote after a long time away from words and it showed.

Well, a few hours anyway. Later, drinking beer, I had that feeling of being outside myself and watching mannequins struggle to navigate reality. If you have to write, then write. You could tell it was no use talking. It's also no use collecting coral, at least not if you're from New England.

Strange rules breed stranger bedfellows. Noon terrifies me more than 4 a.m. ever could. Turrets blocked the moon where we hiked in France, reminiscent of certain kinds of love. Your stories are sad - have you considered poetry? Or pottery, it's all the same.

How open you were in conversation, as if we had been friendly a thousand years! Time is your project so use it to good effect. A blackberry aftertaste and a dream of steaming apples. The undertaker professed a lack of faith to which the minister replied well, we all have problems. Thus my habit of weeping whenever the light attains that Dickinsonian slant.

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