Friday, April 26, 2013

April 26

Even if the form shifts, there is something in the cloud that overflows onto the clear portion of the sky. I can’t hold anything in place, and shouldn’t even try. It would be better to build my own bulwark out of sticks and bones and the contempt of swindlers. What could be more audacious than the sound of an inveterate liar making a mockery of the neighbors, who have lived beside me for more than twenty years without so much as a good morning. Only when my Jack Russell leapt into the mouth of their German Shepherd did I hear from them. My dog came home in one piece; for that I am grateful. Also for the table and what is on it, and for the red that permeates the human handiwork. Although it is not my favorite color, it is the most necessary. Like an experience one can recall, even if one did not, oneself, live it through.

No comments:

Post a Comment