Tuesday, October 28, 2008


A poem transcends the meaning of its words if conceived with a distinct feeling; transcends the feeling if conceived with a distinct image; and transcends all if the author does not interfere with its conception.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008


Euphoria. You'll
know you're near me because my
head hums like bees' wings.

Saturday, October 18, 2008


I have a friend who had learning problems in high school. He couldn't get the hang of a subject, I think it was math. A doctor discovered that his brain was underdeveloped because he had not crawled as a child; he somehow went from flopping around on the floor to walking. The doctor prescribed crawling. After a couple months of exercises, he never again had similar frustrations with the school subject.

His experience made me wonder how often I approach problems with my mind that can only be solved with a seemingly unrelated mechanical movement of the body.

When restless, I'll watch a movie or read a book or write a journal entry or smoke a cigarette or have a drink or surf the net or do any of a number of other head exercises that doesn't ease my restlessness. Sometimes I'll do none of the above, sit in silence, and think. This doesn't help either. Out of frustration with my thoughts and disgust for the mess in the kitchen sink, I'll do the dishes. Usually after doing the dishes I forget my frustration. Now I don't know if the cure has to do with the mechanical, non-thinking, repetitive movement of washing dishes or the symbolic act of cleansing, but it works.

Modern man is starved of mechanical work, physical work. And our soul is suffering for it. Our head is king, and our heart and bodies its serfs.

I gotta start taking dance.

Thursday, October 16, 2008


I feel it falling,
my favorite season. With
it I go inward.

How many?

Substitute a craft you like for the word "poem", that craft's consuming verb for "read", and that craft's creating verb for "write".

How many poems must I read before I can recognize a good one?
How many must I write and read before I can write a good one?

Sunday, October 5, 2008

The North Woods

A walk an hour before dusk in the North Woods refuels my soul for two months of city living.