(don't you) look back | time goes ever ever on

(and)

  • Oct. 14th, 2005 at 1:31 PM
pensive
goethe also called writing "the reproduction of the world around me by means of the internal world which takes hold of, combines, creates anew, kneads everything and puts it down again in its own form, manner"

i like that. writing as bread-making, writer as the knead-er; the stuff comes from everywhere, in and out, usually unrecognizeable--what exactly is a yeast and why does it come in those odd little crumbs? we don't make yeast, we don't make flour, few of us make milk (and i don't think any of us have tried baking with it!), but we make the bread; there is no bread without the maker.

kneader.

weaver.

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mask of the hour

black hands held so high
the vulture wheels and dives
something on the thermals yanked his chain
he smelled your boring apex
rotting on the train tracks
he laughed under his breath
because you thought that you could outrun sorrow

take your own advice:
this thundering and lightning brings you rain
you run an airtight mission
a Cousteau expedition
to find a diamond at the bottom of the drain

mockingbird sings
in the middle of the night
all his songs are stolen so he hides
he stole them out from whippoorwills
and screaming car alarms
he sings them for you special
he knows you're afraid of the dark
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