those old poems

When I revisit the poems I wrote here
under all these layers of since,
I delve drifiting sands, find amphorae
of seeds: they plant themselves
and bloom afresh: orchids, Continue reading

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rictus

The smile on the stage, on the street, at the office
is not the same as the smile in the quiet room,
at the mirror, at the furry creature beside you.
The one is armour, a mask built according to a formula;
the other has no recipe, but issues naturally from
joy. It is the flower in the forest, the vacation that
you can’t take; it takes you. No airline can Continue reading

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Watching Paul

He plays his guitar left-handed, brings back the day they played Shea,
the Fab Four, forty-four years ago. Then, they played over baseball speakers
at fans screaming so loud that nobody could hear the static or the band.
Now, he is a time machine, giving us a trip to the perfect moment sculpted
by a billion memories into the quintessence of pure joy. Today, the screamers
are parents and children and their children: they sway Continue reading

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