Monday, August 11, 2014

5677. WHITE SOCKS

WHITE SOCKS
I read the story about the man who came
to stay and then just as abruptly left : fires
still burning in the hearth, some thin soup on
the stove. Not that they cared, but, people
talked. It does seem sometimes that a good
identification is needed. Fingerprints, or hat
size at least. (All those years I spent with the
FBI have taught me  something. Never wear
white (socks) after Memorial Day).
-
That's an injudicious undertaking you're doing
by cutting that grass  -  I'd love to just let things
grow and hide among the high-grown weeds.
It's only the definers (those FBI's) who catalogue
and do the naming to be sure  -  weeds, nuisance, 
threat and danger. Oh such balderdash. Let them
then have what they'd have anyway.
-
The very first mirrors were polished metal, or 
water, I'm sure, before that. Let me keep looking.
I love the waver of this strange reflection

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