Plain American Language

I cut a sliver/of WC William's finger
and placed it inside/my philosophy...

Thursday, October 25, 2007

(Personal) Essay on What I Think About Most, after Anne Carson

And it's emotions.
The wind is cool
today, spring, under a green tree
of who-knows-what species.

Can I tell you I still fall in love
with full lips
impenetrable hair.
Let's look at this:

Walking around is a practice
in error:
making mistakes wherever you go: tripping
everywhere your old love....

but walking isn't always that.
It's sometimes when you notice
a small puddle
pushing a thicket of pollen
down the cracks of the sidewalk,

and as it moves you figure out
you still love
things that push,
or push out with the wind.
Am I

committing an error
puzzling this?
and puzzling over the trees?
I'll tell you I've never been
thrilled about pines:

they stick to your fingers
like the past
or fresh dough
with too much yeast.
What are trees, anyway?

A branch is more strung-out
than a wrong note
on a beginner's clarinet,
but it turns and twines
and falls sometimes,

like love sometimes,
that eternal error. Do I love
oak leaves
as much as I think?
Do they wrap me

like a maple leaf would
given the right season & chance?
You know I can prove to you
water is an error:
it disappears in the sun.

But when it
into a crack on the sidewalk,
an error is something
to hold on to.

No comments: