Another scanty week for the old notebook. Just a few traces…
“This is a world with a new order of disease.”
—Linda Hogan, The Woman Who Watches Over the World
*
The Meteor
Between the bars of a reformatory cell
an orange
came flying in a flash and fell
plop like a stone
into the john
And gazing at it
the prisoner shone
all splattered with shit
in a blaze of ecstasy
She hasn’t forgotten
She still thinks of me.—Jacques Prévert, tr. Norman R. Shapiro, Préversities: A Jacques Prévert Sampler
[This one reminded me of a lovely hand that flung such an orange into my own cell back in ancient times. I remember shining in the same way!]
And because it was a not-much week, here’s another unpublished oldie of mine, dated June 5, 1973:
Storm
Low clouds trailing rain veils
that snag on the shadowed peaks,
as if a sadness in the body poured
its violence into the panicked air:
dense drops pummeling granite;
cold white flashes under the skin.
Quality always trumps quantity, or what's a heaven for? Thanks for the kind words, Don…
Like both of these, Joe – though you may feel it's coming up short in quantity, you sure aren't in quality.<br /><br />thanks,<br />Don