Sunday, August 24, 2008

symphony

sometimes in every breath
there is a symphony

one of my friends gave me a pear from her orchard
smell: sweet floral,
color: light green specked with yellow
feel: cool in my hand, and heavy

I ate it on a break from a job
all around me every one was really stressed out
about what, I couldn't really tell, because I was doing a job in a corporate office and I have never had that kind of job and when people want me to get stressed out about stuff I become more like a duck and it rolls off my back and if they continue to want me to get stressed out I get angry and just say, forget about it, and hence have never been able to keep a normal job, because it always seemed to me (i'm not saying I'm right or wrong here, I'm super stubborn and all that) like it was a bunch of rules that made no sense and a lot of extra explaining to do when we could just get to work but. Hey. I've never had a "normal" job longer than a week so what would I really know about it? Not much

what I do know is about that pear

dive in,
remember the experience of a pear

I mean, I'm no Hemingway, I'm no Rumi, I'm not even Nin, but
just

remember the experience of a pear

teeth slicing skin
teeth compressing grainy flesh
sweet juice eking out
inhale
the faintest mist of wildflowers
mixed upon a round buttery sugar
but light still light
oh god, that divine smell
and oh god, that drop upon the tongue that mash up against the teeth delicate and animal all at once
so am I

as I turn away from the computers, the glitches, the beepings, the monitors, the phones, the innuendo, the anger, the unspoken he said she said where's mine why didn't I get, the shoes too tight, the belly overlapping, the hope for tomorrow, the preoccupation of sex or the children or the laundry list of things to do,

and I look out the window past the supermarkets and the office buildings and the mountains rising in the distance

and into the elegy of the sky and the wind

and I say once again

sometimes in every breath

wait I change that

in every breath
there is
a symphony

THE USUAL (An abstract sound meets iambic pentameter work)

  The Usual The stink. The plink and clink, so rinky-dink, Our winkless cries went down the kitch’n sink. Oh, strum und drang. D’you k...