Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Don't Mention the Moon (A Selection from The Edith Wharton Sentences)

Don’t Mention the Moon

The ink-stained desk at which all his poems had been written resented poetry, it disliked ink, and had no use for wineglass rings on the wood, or the caustic splashes of whiskey.  But it was a desk, and so had little to say about poetry or anything else, and lived its wooden life in the hope that someone other than a poet, a premier, for example, or a CEO, would one day sit down and sign a check, or initial an order to invade a country, anything but the love-sick mutterings or impotent phrasings the desk had perforce grown so resigned to house. “Just don’t mention the moon today,” thought the desk. “For once don’t sit here and write about the moon.”


Sunday, April 26, 2015

Evasion (A Portion Of The Transcripts)

What is it.  What is it with you and spiders? 
Why this

What is it about the ocean, the fish
like needles in the blanket of the ocean?

Why this evasion?

What is it about the mountain, the villages
  of snowdrops

in bloom
  on the mountain?

Beauty.  Rendering.  Love
in all
     its odd-bodied forms.
Go on...

I love the spiders because
who else will, and who

has ever loved me
  like I want to be loved.