09 July, 2007


Some old poems I found,
I found in one of them a line about
and what they mean to us,
we who use them
so easily,
like some hat we wear.
But I wear silly hats
these days.

I have long ago hung up
anything that might attract you,
now I am left with only
those hats that repulse you.

When I wear them out in public,
I breathe deeply.
I don't wonder if you'll be looking at me today.


I arrange things a certain way,
no empiricism can quantify
the mathematics of these arrangements.
They are beyond mathematics,
alone in the hall with pseudoscience
and raw compulsion.

Tallest to smallest,
over and again.

You cannot possibly hope
to translate this language,
to become fluent.
You know this,
I know this too.

But still you seem willing
to try.
Like books running
tallest to smallest,
that makes me feel right,
and seems beautiful.


I have built a small fort of silence,
and all that is good.

There is a moat of expectation,
and if you are willing to get wet
you can come
live in this fort
with me.

There are rich tapestries on the walls,
scenes of my greatest embarrassments.
There are fresh flowers
in every room.

The table is set
with such a fine repast,
you wouldn't believe.