smorgasbord of poetry, photos, political hairballs...MOTEs "More energy, grit and real life in them than 96.8% of the bullshit that comes into the Corpse."
Thursday, November 30, 2017
pyramidal hornbeam (1992)
great trees stand between the wheat field and uncultivated spots of prarie grass;
occassional pools of water along the highway; childvoice leads my attention to the
front of the bus and the tops of heads seen above seats. what does the printed
word?
where fly thoughts inspired in moving one's body and life-purpose through a
nation suffering the weakness of imbalanced power& conquest? on which plane
does my regard for humanity involve hope, and how will these concerns manifest
theirselves in concrete good? should we just keep trucking slabs for the pyramid?
the bodily hold on reality affirms; quality is only grasped in the context of a
minimal, sustaining quantity. our greyhound has stopped at the U-totem. people
get off to smoke, stretch, start conversations. a woman boards, hauling a trash
sack of belongings, angrily muttering to the rear seats. she curses me when i
approach, then a small indian child starts to cry, and every wishy washy desire i
may have to befriend the friendless burns with attempted soothe.
the bus travels downtown. streets, they shine with rain and folks windowshop
without hurry. my life is eternally young. the good soul beats down loneliness
to afford all a philosophy of benevolence. big word men and women hold one
another at night greet the stars travelling unaware, the sun stays on a groove.
were a common theme possible, would we invest in love or invent beauty?
plenty of food or a sensible notion of void? how did we resign ourselves to loss?
i was born without shoes on my feet and my soul treads accordingly.
i am singing if crying, and grievance as pollution mars language in the german
sense of symphony, but less so than a young family who copes on the rainy bus
moving through kansas yearing like a congregation. solicit *heart, and you're
lent a brief wink to scratch more words into the itch. there is a vastness untapped
in the wisdom of compassion. (1992, "they shine with rain."
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