We don’t doubt clouds: how fast answers will follow fast questions. How the ‘I’ cloud is a disguise that raindrops wear to hide their souls inside the rainbow; how we are only creatures of reflection, not the recipients of light and its refraction, a mystic overlord the whole sky needs, friends, picnic ruined or not.Continue reading “Leyden Jar”
Every house is either like an old coroner, or it’s like a town crier for the dead. Either there’s that old toaster on the table, those spilled oats on the tablecloth, even a sprouted onion in the sink— the floor boards that always creak when you step on them. Or: the sunlight has pressed theContinue reading “Haunted House”
Addressing the sin In summer: aestivation, Evacuation.
I would fain die a dry death. I am rude to you. You, who do not need my poetry; you, who think of words as fools, who pays no attention to my transcriptions— who would be the sun, I am sure. We must speak of our time together like old friends, my friend. Let’s fillContinue reading “No-mind Island”
Hey, Mountain, hey. —The Tempest Han Shan must have been drinking. For he thought there was a mountain growing in his backyard. Look! Big rocks were being pushed up through the soil. When he’d left his home on Cold Mountain, he’d tried to be the perfect sage and disappear. But now he was amazed toContinue reading “[ Island ]”
We both weave a web. The spider’s is intricate. Mine will last too long.
A turn or two I’ll walk to still my beating mind. —The Tempest A foundation for fools: a lust for consciousness. What you can think about is thought, that’s all. Just a quiet wind blowing through the pines: thought is a rope to pull up after you have climbed the mountain: thought is all weContinue reading “[ No-Mind ]”
Keep to your cabins. You do assist the storm. —The Tempest A searchlight of the soul and soil— yet today vultures circle far above our heads and the monks have started to chant his predictions. It is as if he died for song and beer, or for hidden treasure. But suppose he died because heContinue reading “[ Death ]”
Be collected; no more amazement. —Shakespeare. The Tempest My friend, let’s fill the bowl with wine. For here lies Cold Mountain, the poet that some would say I was. Stick out your tongue. Taste the breeze. Tell me what you see. There never was a man named ‘Mountain’. There never was a mountain named ‘Cold’.Continue reading “[ Circle ]”
I would fain die a dry death. – Shakespeare, The Tempest I am rude to you. You, who do not need my poetry; you, who think of words as fools, who pays no attention to my transcriptions— who would be the sun, I am sure. We must speak of our time together like old friends,Continue reading “[ One ]”