25
“Come to us, youth, tell us truly why there is madness in your
eyes?”
“I know not what wine of wild poppy I have drunk, that there is
this madness in my eyes.”
“Ah, shame!”
“Well, some are wise and some foolish, some are watchful and some
careless. There are eyes that smile and eyes that weep—and
madness is in my eyes.”“Youth, why do you stand so still under the shadow of the tree?”
“My feet are languid with the burden of my heart, and I stand
still in the shadow.”
“Ah, shame!”
“Well, some march on their way and some linger, some are free and
some are fettered—and my feet are languid with the burden of
my heart.”
From The Gardner, by Rabindranath Tagore
A confession,
11 mayo 2009
I had forgotten that I was a chameleon and that the only reason I ever survived was because of the instincts that kept reminding me, “Adaptation and availability are most valuable here.” Since the eve, I’ve snuck my head beneath the moist surface of the dirt that outlay the nest of my inhibition and I’ve had it there ever since. Warm, without an eye’s view. In the darkness. Where the twilight is a color of blood, rust, and polished silver.
I suppose now it is only recourse. To remind myself that the tendencies I have to ostrich my goals and packrat them into a museum of conditioned collectibles is nothing short of suffocation. And I’ve seemed to have denied the timelessness these past few weeks, a direct result or cause of this very interrogation of my freedom.
(I have not felt free now in some time).
With all that and more, I sit and absorb the sunshine as it presses upon me like an engine cylinder. And then, I relax a little. I take a step back and view everything as it lay below the blanket. And after a while, I tell myself, “I’m going to make it!” and I laugh with a laughter only madmen of distinct recognition could have had laughed when they too considered the ease of this life.
To have so much with so little
…and to never retreat the appreciation of that, whatever the bloodbath.
Just when you think it couldn’t happen…
anagrams make pretty coasters.
june 10, 2009
three thousand miles until
i collapse at the feet of god
she’s waited patiently for my
reincarnation.
MAYBE THIS TIME I’LL BE A
SUNFLOWER
and her spit will warm and
water me. (into nothing).
SEEK AND DESTROY
“…Only as friendly as the roses are to the thorns.”
(For Clayton)
It stormed tonight. The first real storm of the past two seasons, it wept. The earth. The wind howled and the trees shook from the vibrations in her voice. And then I thought of you and how you love Tennessee thunderstorms and little crabs on the dirty shores of the Brooklyn waterfront. Then I missed you.
I thought of you the day of your birthday but I didn’t call. Something in me felt annoyed that I knew only of your birthday because facebook told me so. A day to think about it and I suppose it’s not that big of a deal, really. But it feels strange, still, nonetheless.
Things here have been so big, so fast, so revolutionary. I use my hands to keep my balance but they’re tied down in the mud to strings holding the songbirds. I laugh. I’ve always been a bit unkempt.
I loved you then and I loved you now. I hope you are well.
