I will seize the day into
a shape I step into.
It opens, repeats,
refuses explanation.
I fill it with errands,
and coffee,
and silence,
waiting for it to pass
or mean something.
It’s where joy is supposed to happen—
if it happens.
And where else would it?
Ask too hard,
and here they come—
the ones with credentials and networks,
grave faces,
buzzing phone in hand,
rushing across the lawn
to tell you not to ask again.
Carpe diem... no joy... so sad
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor
tailor
who am I but a stitch in time
what if I were to bare my soul
would you see me origami
7-8-2015
The poems are original, Tony, but you sound bored to death. Maybe you should do something different as usual and as programmed.
"I seemed to have sensed also from an early age that some of my experiences as a reader would change me more as a person than would many an event in the world where I sat and read. "
Gerald Murnane, Tamarisk Row
Thanks Danik. I think you are right. I blame albert camus.
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