every breath a bead in an endless strand
"I'm not sure about all this, but I'm starting to get the hang of it."
Writing in the Dark It's not difficult. Anyway, i...
Bob Dylan: Precious Memories: "As I travel down li...
We shall not cease from explorationAnd the end of ...
Not Ideas About the Thing But the Thing ItselfAt t...
A SONG ON THE END OF THE WORLD
The great encounter stops your breath, your heart ...
After great pain a formal feeling comes--The nerve...
THE PEOPLE OF THE OTHER VILLAGE
hate the people of this village
and would nail our hats
to our heads for refusing in their presence to remove them
or staple our hands to our foreheads
for refusing to salute them
if we did not hurt them first: mail them packages of rats,
mix their flour at night with broken glass.
We do this, they do that.
They peel the larynx from one of our brothers' throats.
We de-vein one of their sisters.
The quicksand pits they built were good.
Our amputation teams were better.
We trained some birds to steal their wheat.
They sent to us exploding ambassadors of peace.
They do this, we do that.
We canceled our sheep imports.
They no longer bought our blankets.
We mocked their greatest poet
and when that had no effect
we parodied the way they dance
which did cause pain, so they, in turn, said our God
was leprous, hairless.
We do this, they do that.
Ten thousand (10,000) years, ten thousand
(10,000) brutal, beautiful years.
--Thomas Lux
from SPLIT HORIZON, (Houghton Mifflin, 1994)