January 3, 2013
I will tell you exactly what I value:
precision, or anything like it, but now
in its expression there are obvious
dangers. In the form of my daughter,
who arrives with destruction and sets to
mending the whole earth daily. I am
sorry I don't know if language is plastic or
organic, refined or raw, and every morning
I learn what I knew as mechanical was
physiological all along. A slice of angelfood
cake spinning on its stick, powered by an ancient
beast and then look: a smile flickers as she dreams,
when what good has she seen yet, what good?
No, he told the others, he was out of the game,
this was it: he believed no more in the angles
of perception or the light darkness achieved, but
he knew he would cross the street again any day.
There has always been a garden, there is always
God and his cucumbers, the devil and his weeds,
and wind which will and will and will.
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