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Thursday, September 13, 2012

taking your madness into your own hands



W H E N   E C S T A S Y   I S   I N C O N V E N I E N T 


Feign a great calm;
all gay transport soon ends.
Chant: who knows—
flight's end or flight's beginning
for the resting gull?

Heart, be still.
Say there is money but it rusted;
say the time of moon is not right for escape.
It's the color in the lower sky 
too broadly suffused,
or the wind in my tie.

Know amazedly how
often one takes his madness
into his own hands
and keeps it.





When ecstasy is inconvenient....feign a great calm.

Say there is money, but oh, it's rusted, indeed it is.

I sifted through all sorts of poems this morning about autumn, and leaves.  The ends of things.  But what I wanted was ecstasy, however inconvenient.  And so there you have it.  In your own hands, amazedly.




I took the camera along on my walk yesterday, and the whole time, nothing, really.  Nothing that made me gasp.  And then, along the bottom of our front stoop.  This array of leaves and dried flowers.




3 comments:

  1. Such a lovely poem. I especially like the last four lines. Beautiful images.

    ReplyDelete
  2. That is an amazing poem. Thank you for sharing.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Beautiful heap of autumn leaves, your photography is enigmatic. I can see a sensitive soul behind the lenses.
    have a nice day !

    ReplyDelete

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