Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Rounding The Corner Home

The woods this morning are at once familiar and yet altogether new. This is why I need you! And walked all morning talking out loud, as if the deer and squirrels care what I think, as if they do.

This writing this way? Earlier you indicated that all I had to do was listen. I don't panic when you leave, not the way I did when I was ten, twenty, thirty and forty.

Whiskey, black coffee, chopped cilantro, pancakes with apple sauce. All of these things are precisely like the other so stop trying so hard to separate them. How hard I laughed when nobody else was awake, thinking about work and money and what I was going to do all day.

Lincoln near the end, that kind of fatigue, that level of insight. People are people the whole world over. A kind of repetition that is not redundant but insistent as in please please please.

I - you and I together - insist on love! I mean wise-cracking doves. My teachers live next door or sleep down the hall or come into the room where I write and say hey you said you'd wash the bathroom four days ago, do you think Jesus would mind terribly if you kept your word?

We forget how easy it is to do nothing. Christ was born in Bethlehem (and Berlin and Caracas and Kankakee and so on and so forth). I am what hides in ellipsis.

Thank you for prisms and dogs and also Fur Elise. Travelers stop sending postcards when they're rounding the corner home.

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