poetry:to me
is about passing
images that
sometimes
stick but often
pass by only
to return
un:announced when le
ast expected
often it SlavishlY
conforms to
rules as opaque as
their
inventor’s (li:fe)
sometimes it is
fresh
suprising
the trick of finding
out what you didn’t lose
(existings
tricky:but to live’s a gift)
the teachable
imposture of always
arriving at the
place you never left
conventions matter
but often get in
oUr wAy
blocking
what we really
want to
say
as do other
conVentions
elsewhere
that rule
(and I refer to
thinking(rests upon
a dismal
misconception:namely that
some neither ape
nor angel called a man
is measured by his
quote eye cue unquote.
and sometimes
being
direcT
is what we need
yours is the light
by which my spirit’s borne
yours is the
darkness of my soul’s return
-
you
are my sun,my moon,and all my stars
even though just
how
direcT
might not be clear
n
OthI
n
g can
s
urPas
s
the m
y
SteR
y
of
s
till.nes
s
agree
