but, this autumn – friends!
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3 a.m. in the dark morning of a dark night;
a single candle flickering on a gleam of gold.I cannot see how great or small the dark space here, ofchapel, church, echoing cathedral; orare there trees around; or a stable; or a prison cell..? ..I cannot see how great or small his mind;I cannot see how great or small his heart;his soul…monk…your image, your imagined…
How I suspect ‘busy’ people…
has anything to do with busyness..?They turn enthusiasm into ‘duty’;turn duty into guilt…How I love those peoplewho always have time for anyone..they are like swans:serenity above; activity below;never busy; always active;floating white, serene, unruffled,like swans; like lotus flowers;like love.
How can I COMPUTE love’s DATABASE?
INCHes its way into immortal life’s ASSURANCEin the seeming OYSTER of my heart?As SPAM is to the living red-blood MEAT,or TURKISH harem to a WEDDING vow,so are my SPIRITS to your LONGed-for BEAUTY;thrice DISTILLED within th’alembic of my soul,since but EXTENSION of your SATISFACTION,the PLEASING of your BEAUTY, is the FASHIONof my so painful-LENGTHENED, longing…
lay the lettuce on the plate first
of the iceberg lettuce which candisturb hearing aidsif you’re into fartsy additional vegchop them up small and sprinkleit saves the whole edifice deconstructingwhen you take the pin outthen a slice say an inch thickof wholemeal bread whichyou’ve soaked in olive oil and lemon juiceand rubbed garlic across as ifyou were ironing the curtainsof a dolls’…
How could I not know
when hundreds of emailsspam it to me every Advent day,and right through unsilent nightin several languages…a manliness increased in every measure;a bulk purchase of blue pills forthe bedside drawer; and – since it can begift-wrapped more easily than me myself –an imitation designer watch: to registerhow late for work we’re going to beday after day;…
many ways
in which to praisee.g. a rose –in careful prose;awe for betteror full worsein poetry, unjustin verse..be it evenheartfelt curseon mind,to findthat when, all rosescome and gone,a tension rested,paused upon,and though Observercomes and goes,a roseful’s stilla noseful rose;yet, all we mettogether whereour somehow knewa hereful ‘there’..