Monday, December 29, 2014


All things were made to be yours; and you were made to prize them according to their value. I keep touching the screen so words don't dim, then dissolve. It's a kind of silence, which I'm told is holy, but hardly the end I'm here to honor. The weed whackers insure an absence of quiet. Quiet must be made; it's not a taking away, but an addition to. I used to make metaphors, now take them down, leaving a blank but moving line. The financial network helps you prepare for your jackpot; in the background, a woman screams over her newly purchased ticket. My daughter tried to make 100 out of a single dollar; all I heard was the sound of one bill crackling.

--29 December 2014

No comments: