ANOTHER LIFE
In a misunderstood radiance, the moments divide
themselves : here the fenceline sags, there the
workshed leans. I've spent five years like this, in
a fictional homburg, wearing a sliced coat and a
a shell-fish hat, just thinking about moves.
Bobby Fischer, Boris Spassky, nineteen
hundred and seventy two.
-
Just then it was : my farmfield, comprised of idle
acres - we mowed for hay that Summer, while I
worked for milk. The old red toolbarn, twice as tall
as a man, half a bungalow long, ended up standing
for everything I'd ever known. I made a workshed
out of it; some chains on the wall, bookshelves and a
table with chair, from which to write. And I did.
-
Nothing ever changes like that which changes one's
mind. I found a new world, and another life.
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