Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Imagine there is no cheese in the house. Imagine there is no poetry. Is this hell?

Perhaps this is the seasonal fallow. It will move into abundance or it won't. Time will get back to us. Don't expect the cat to.

But there is cheese (at least 3 kinds) and, yes, there is poetry. Yes, abundance resides -- the noon hour declares. And then there were 2. Cheeses.

1 comment:

  1. (Hypo. cont.)

    Lapses of time between the sequence
    held no measure for our merchant
    Other's glances languished through him
    and he recorded his wild memories with resolve

    " I was triangularly in the marshes
    Life was underneath me
    There was a squirrel in someone's yard
    The leaves were mirrors in the afternoon
    And I shouted in the rain"