Saturday, September 17, 2011

What Happens Between The Ears

There is no excuse, no consequence and, in truth, no explanation. That was a way to approach it, until one realized there was no it to approach. What happens between the ears has to stay between the ears. Or so one thinks in the "wee hours," drinking hot tap water with instant coffee grounds, in a Rhode Island motel as winter comes on.

Stubborn is not a bad quality, when it comes to honor. Yet a lifetime of trying to get outside foundered, as if evolution were merely a detour from the natural to the unnatural. Outcome - or product - aside, writing poetry is a fundamentally Pollackesque experience. Tell me about the journey and the redeemer, okay?

Or, find a good tree, a sitting position you can hold for a few hours, and define it. Quotation marks were like little rafts or perhaps life preservers in terms of what they facilitate in a sentence. At last one was able to facilitate the one that came after. Or so he wrote, writing.

A vexed doctor is what sign of healing? You can't reason your way into Heaven 'cause it's a "you either get it or you don't" type of thing. As - in the interest of honesty here - another he wrote. Your voice on the phone has been growing increasingly fluid, which I attribute to your confidence, which is a bad development though for the life of me I can't say why.

Getting there, getting there. The two biggies right now are trusting God and assuming spirit rather than body. Without works - and words are not works, at least not necessarily - you'll have a hard time convincing anybody of anything. So back to where we started then - the grindstone, the drawing board, the familiar space in which a still small voice insists there is another way.

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