What if every truth was a lie we couldn't see through? And every lie we saw through a truth in disguise?
What if the purity of heaven meant an eternity of not touching, an infinity of white.
No protest but silence. No context but the light. Books filled with pages too wise for words.
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Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing wax -- Of cabbages -- and kings -- And why the sea is boiling hot -- And whether pigs have wings.
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- Falstaff
- Minneapolis, MN
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2010
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May
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- That poetry makes nothing happen
- E-2 Brutus
- They learn in suffering what they teach in song
- Dryden's Tea Party
- Isle of the Dead
- Jesus vs. Christ
- The sound of one hand...
- Lies
- Marsyas born again
- La gopi e mobile
- Shelf Life
- Deflection
- Heaven in a wild flower
- Manguel on Reading
- The light whose smile kindles the universe
- Small Narcissisms
- Socialist Fantasy
- Albee / I need a drink
- Denial
- Haunted
- Trade Winds
- A Distant Beauty
- Fear Himself
- The queue
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May
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Method to the Madness
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specktre@gmail.com
1 comment:
nice. what if nothing mattered. neither outcomes nor efforts
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