"There's not much doubt in any of our minds that no complete idea springs fully formed from our brow,
needing only a handshake and a signature on the contract to send it off into the world to make twenty-five billion dollars.
The germ of the idea grows slowly..." - Walt Kelly

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Where this is going

There's no telling
what guile it took
to park the Lone Ranger back in his saddle
and make it home whole;
no whistling of metal,
no galloping, grunting chase,
no blue-green haze of the sky glazing over,
final submission for half-lidded review.
Just crackle and glow
and peace,
loudly entered into the records
by the desert's finest,
proud remnants of how things should have stayed -
or that's what they'd have us believe -
torn back by the last dim notes,
ghastly, rhythm-less breezes that,
despite their discord,
will always resonate the loudest.
Acoustic-string tremors
humming beautiful violence in crude, gold ripples;
If you're listening for the effect,
sound waves couldn't be more heartbreaking.

Quick Links:

From last month's decomP, Sam Meizlish gives us a short poem stocked with phenomenal imagery.

Brian Long has been busy, initiating a 50-words per day project.

Continuing a trend of very good work, Anthony Kirchner takes us on a wandering journey.

Apparently I've been doing a terrible job of keeping up with Andrew Kaspereen's work - he's got a lot of new things on his blog.

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Bob Dylan, Song to Woody

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