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Some observations

A desire to have a perfect lawn
is a bizarre desire
Black basketball stars
coached by venerable white haired
white men in blue suits
She never takes my hand in public
White flowers in the springtime,
an un-spring like cold,
a wind that burns in the night,
a fine red wheelbarrow,
some stony goop in the mist, and
the wondrous dust of elegiac stuff
His willingness in greed to destroy
the things in life that are truly great
She doesn’t tell the truth because
the truth does her no good to tell it
Pain that is the impetus, the founder
of all original art
Desire that won’t let him say
what he really thinks out loud
How do you engage and satisfy her?
Do you actually care how she feels?
A wind that takes with it
life’s preeminent illusions
The world isn’t created once and for all
Original artists create it for us afresh
I have no intention of dying anytime soon
What about you?
If you think there’s enough time—
you’re wrong
She’ll steal from you if you let her
and if you don’t,
she really won’t mind
No one can break us
away from enchantments
or save us from our obsessions
She’s charming,
quite affable, but no wit
Nor is she strikingly intelligent
But she knows quite well
the kind of attention
successful men like
Oh yes, this life is internal
with its roils and fixed infatuations, illusory
characters, loves, acquaintances and hates
And the dead, now don’t
forget them; they yet speak
their minds inside your head
Notice the way some talk of the famous
They call them by their first names, “Bill
then said,” to show you they know them well
You’re a dragon she said,
not at all benign,
all smoke, fight, flight and rage

 

 

 

 

-April 16, 2016-