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Buoy the population of the soul
Toward their destination before they drown
~ Robert Pinsky
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Wednesday, 7. January 2004

Lock Pick



A half painted oak door, red on the top and sanded yellow towards the bottom. Smell of turpentine, wood polish, new carpet, a hairy dog, that smell all women add to rooms, something on the stove tea?, books in piles steaming like manure, beyond all this, the smell of your moony loneliness.

Goddamn it! I can't seem to file the lines of this poem just right, just enough to pick this lock, and to come crashing through the door!




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Friday, 2. January 2004

Day 1 - Progress report



The morning began As all bright days do Dripping with dew, Plans, outlays & hopes.

But as the sun progressed In it’s arc, those morning armies Beat a hasty retreat into the body Where an eclipse deepened.

The only escape from this shrieking Dark is a mute acceptance of it, For in reality aren’t even the clustered Stars spaced light years apart?

However what really saddens Is this poverty of desire, disgorging From the body, a homeless shelter Where it takes refuge every night.

It effaces all pleasures, of hearing Someone unexpected call, the sight Of a cardinal hurrying through The bare branches, Bach on the radio.

And reduces every evening To a self serving lamentation. Then I become both the mourner And the one mourned for. Then silence comes, after weeping, As exhausted sleep…




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Monday, 29. December 2003

Morning to Afternoon - A Sequence



[A] Why do you resist silence? The universe is silent, mile after mile. You are the universe.

Why this impulse to flee? Everything that is outside yourself Is you as well.

Why this restless pacing in the body cage? Observe how wind shakes loose The leaves from a rooted tree.

You too, send, first send your life deep Into this earth. Let time blow desires away. Realize the nature of all things.

[B]

"Who are you?" You give Your name. The universe asks Again, "Who are you?" You say where you come from And where you plan to go.

You go on pulling tricks From this hat called you. You pull out your past loves, You pull, really pull out your demons. You pull out your wrinkled childhood. You pull out songs, you pull out Half remembered poems. You pull out street corners you Had sighed at and laughed at.

You finally pull out the top Of the hat. Now hold it up, See your hat holds a piece Of the infinite night sky. This is who you are!




My Poems

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