Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Not A Gap But A Continuation

One writes but does not - for once - question the impulse to write. Sleep is not a gap but a continuation. Most metaphors eventually decay. We explore each fold, discover the next, and explore that one too.

The one who is articulate injures silence. Is that true? Yet there are moments when we do feel as if we could slip the coil and end suffering. It does have to do with language, which is a symbol that facilitates communication, by which we live, or seem to.

You see? She walks away and you let her go, as others have done for you. The numinous greens of summer everywhere. Who credits the rain, forgets the sky.

The twenty sentences began as an exercise: in getting to writing, in learning writing, in being stubborn about writing, in personal writing, and now what? The dog waits impatiently for me to finish. Frank O'Hara has a lot to lament, but a lot to be thankful for too, as I am for him, always. Again with the expensive cigarettes!

Well, I carry my coffee down to the road and pretend to study the clover there. I can see a little over one mile south to where a couple of deer are picking slowly back toward their glade. It passes, life does, or it seems to. We bind ourselves up - thusly - and go on.

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