"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

Wednesday, April 23, 2014


Day Twenty-Two (late): Writing a riff on Arthur Sze's Here.

There eyes water in front of a screen.
There the morning light arrives too early.
There a flock - no, a pack - a pack of birds sounds angrily.
There a great distance.
There a need for a new bridge, something healthy and
        safely suspended above the fray.
There a great fire.
There something else too hot, drowning.
There something dying, emptying into an ocean.
There an open wound.
There a promise.
There a series of broken bones.
There retribution, justification yet unclear.
There a man who has yet to find his way, and yet he
        searches in the dark.
There the final hour.
There the clock that keeps it.
There its dead batteries.

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The Staves, Pay Us No Mind

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