As in unsettle to be settled. Tipped over and righted again. Imbalance follows balance follows imbalance. Breathing. Walking. Consider, walking a poem this afternoon -- rain or no rain. Avoid contact with placid poetry.
What's the equivalent in cooking? Whole onion (balance), cutting up the same (imbalance),roasting the pieces results in balanced joy. By the way, why is joy rarely singular?
Like the topsy turvy stories
ReplyDeletein the patch below the berries
seemed to say the rightest things
about life in the lizard patch
of river towns and tennis courts
always the getting into a briar
and then all hands scratched from it
wiggling around in the underbrush
while waiting for a bus
it seesaws out of gumption
and formulaic enterprises ask
for change and tokens
nothing equals itself again
once it's been written down
no where to go but back inside
the scary welt of a full lasso