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Where yesterday there was worry, today there is inspiration. I’m being here today. My thereness is intact. Good ontology today. Therefore, I have several great titles and ideas for poems, but none formed yet. I have “The Order of the Good Death“, the marvelous “Mad Madame Mim“, I have “this group of awesome trees behind my house”, “Older Pranks“, “The Oldest Bullies“, and “In Need of a Good Massage”. All of these are great notions, but aren’t poems yet.
Here is something that I hope holds all of those ideas:
The oldest bully, of course, was God. In the clouds its handwriting analysis showed signs of hesitation, and of indulgence. But also of intelligence, in the way it grouped the trees behind this house nearly in a dead stand. The grandest of firs and cedars, and even a pine and spruce, gather arms, and they won’t ever crack, like branches in need of a good massage, buttressed, not creaking. Sometimes olden slippers come floating up. Sometimes groundwater is the reason it falls, and the falling is always a good death. It’s a pratfall. If I had to prank someone a hundred years ago, I would pull the sinning donkey, and you and I would giggle like the maddest of embracing madams, preparing for death.
This is a dark and silly poem, and one that requires you to follow nearly all the links in order to understand it. No one has that kind of time. I get that. But my favs write about their lives, and that’s what’s going on in mine. So, Happy Tuesday, friends. Love you!