"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, April 24, 2014


Day Twenty-Four: Writing a poem about masonry/architecture/etc.

There is something to be said
for the speed with which
they've torn down the pyramid.

First, the top came off,
a ceremonial decapitation,
and the rocks that fell
tumbled onto the heads
of those who built it.

The next few layers of stone
got nervous, shaking from impact,
recognizing the weight
and the consequences
that now rested on their shoulders.

What would change next?

Which cornerstone would give, first?
Which vital foundation
was due to crack, tear apart
like wood splintering into shreds?

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Temples, Shelter Song

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