Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Sparks And Smoke Follow

In the front yard a slender curl of fox scat, explaining the dog's anxiety the night before. This and not that. The neighbor's truck on which a new batch of decals suggests nothing is ever learned. Are we older? Is the ocean ever bottomless?

A seamless sky in which narrative drifts. Why do you insist on using paraphrase to your advantage? A blueberry pie wants nothing. More skid marks. Also, a better story won't do what you want, at least not always.

Coming down the hill, I saw again how anger springs from fear and fear is always intimate with my dogs. My strength is somebody else's weakness. The real question is how to commodify something without actually appearing to commodify it. I walk and sparks and smoke follow in my wake. Seams of light that suggest boundaries etc.

We welcome any sign of order, often calling it beauty. Thought is what it says it's not doing and thus leaves us dull. The Christian metaphor is decrepit but I insist on mummification. The shovel is an effective if mechanical tool. If I write, will you listen?

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