Saturday, August 30, 2014

5851. GIVING FOR BLOSSOM

GIVING FOR BLOSSOM
It's not like knowing the answers to every crucial
question here before me, but more like simply
understanding what an answer means  -  I don't
really know. You ask what drives me forward,
how I do it? I don't know. Every constellation
in my starry sky is not yet ranked and numbered,
not even named. Like a bad explorer, I trudge
numbly onward, hacking weeds and maybe
trees, but somehow maintaining a steady pass.
It's good enough for me.
-
There's a language in the words I use  -  that's a
lucky break for me. Otherwise my words would be
as meaningless to you as they'd be foul to someone
else. I like to muss them up, those feathers made
of money, pride, and greed. The Numbnuts Harrys
out there disagree, trying too hard to understand.
-
That's the way it goes  -  presented as a foil, a finger
in some dike, plugging leaks of fame and information
until I get it right. My mud house has not yet invented
brick; I still live amidst the soil of the old.

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