“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” (Samuel Beckett, Worstward Ho)
I’m learning, really. Failing better all
The time. Well-seasoned, failure has a taste
A pinch more savory than bitter gall.
Glorious formulas encourage waste
Of precious metals. Practice thrift. Abjure
The phrase too facile, the well-chosen word.
A chafing illness…
Gods kill remotely with impunity,
So runs the common thread. Immortals prize
A plausible deniability
And kill with innuendoes from the skies.
Lodged in its unapproachable redoubt,
Such callous diffidence elicits questions
Dear to all barstool fantasists about
Free will, hypnotically-induced suggestions,
Etcetera, etcetera. I think
We and the gods converge on one great goal
By inspiration steeped in chance…
The Greek poet Hesiod derived Aphrodite’s name (Ἀφροδίτη) from white sea foam (λευκὸς ἀφρὸς) produced by her father’s severed testicles after they were cast into the sea off Cythera. Wikipedia.
The wind is fair, and tides of sunlit foam
Engage, immesh, retreat and flash again
In liquid foray, like embattled men.
This pulse…
The Greek poet Hesiod derived Aphrodite’s name (Ἀφροδίτη) from white sea foam (λευκὸς ἀφρὸς) produced by her father’s severed testicles after they were cast into the sea off Cythera. (Wikipedia)
The wind is fair, and tides of sunlit foam
Engage, immesh, retreat and flash again
In liquid foray, like embattled men.
This pulse…
Gods kill remotely with impunity,
So runs the common thread. Immortals prize
A plausible deniability
And kill with innuendos from the skies.
Lodged in its unapproachable redoubt,
Such callous diffidence elicits questions
Dear to all barstool fantasists about
Free will, hypnotically-induced suggestions,
Etcetera, etcetera. I think
We and the gods converge on one great goal
By inspiration steeped in chance…
“No one learns the speech of my people, for what we have to say is said in sun’s blood and star’s milk” — C.S. Lewis, Out of the Silent Planet
In the sun’s blood and the star’s milk are carved
Animals never before seen by men.
The children of the ancient seed…
“In the Seychelles there are terns that appear to be made from translucent porcelain” — magazine article
Things are not as they seem. A pale thin light
Engenders birds of weightless feather. Lynxes
Tread purple pathways of amethyst night
Alive with rumors of dead centaurs, sphinxes.
Everything bleaches into legend. If
Only one thing were…
“No one learns the speech of my people, for what we have to say is said in sun’s blood and star’s milk” — C.S. Lewis, Out of the Silent Planet
In the sun’s blood and the star’s milk are carved
Animals never before seen by men.
The children of the ancient seed…
Through the thicket, woven tight,
Filters holy winterlight
Cleansing land bereft of worth
At the warming of the earth.
Summer made the pox abound
On the pullulating ground.
Pustule-like, where wildflowers grew,
Sprouted latex condoms, too.
Beyond earth’s gates of greenhouse gas
A pulseless army camps en masse
And counts its prey…
“In the Seychelles there are terns that appear to be made from translucent porcelain” — magazine article
Things are not as they seem. A pale thin light
Engenders birds of weightless feather. Lynxes
Tread purple pathways of amethyst night
Alive with rumors of dead centaurs, sphinxes.
Everything bleaches into legend. If
Only one thing were…
