Monday, December 5, 2011

A Helpful Poverty, A Real Party

Disappointment near dark. One rises, one prays, one does. One reconsidered in light of the narrative I. Oh remember that little lake in Galilee, the one where we talked about our fathers? Also olives.

Also sheep. Certain reminiscences are seeds of helpful poverty, a real party. A quick fox reminded you that words are not unlike numbers, at least one way. Thus, why bother with new? It depends on the meaning of thus.

A little shake, a little nudge. A little glass of cold milk mistaken for blue. I am a victim of a certain type of heart but not another. I am always surprised that people are not nicer. Still.

But what does one expect after years of prayer, years of making rosary beads with their teeth? How busy we have become, and how transient. For example, the mail lay stacked on the floor, disregarded for seven days. Is there not another way? You tell me, you Freudian speed trap with bangles.

No comments:

Post a Comment