Till you can sing
and rejoice and delight . . . as misers do in gold, and Kings in
sceptres, you never enjoy the world. The
problem, she said, was not who has the power, but power itself. They
put dog shit in front of his door and, when he fell sick, they took
everything. He saw rifle sights in raindrops, which is not to say he
saw raindrops, or that he
deflected his gaze from the
world. Did
you see them, he asked a friend. Raindrop
metamorphosis did not draw them closer. Gold
does not bring the miser nearer
to his twin. They took his books, his computer, his kitchen cabinets.
Something about him had been unclean. To
expel means to breathe out; it is your own breath you lose.
--2
February 2015
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