it was a small success
the other day
when i heard a voice
reciting some fragmentary bit of information
without the aid of a machine
which i attributed to
having performed
what could be called a ceremony
but here i am
of a morning
working
i won't see anyone today
excepting passers by
and my poor girl
and it may be for this reason I feel the presence of Want
stuffing my face with granola
which is in fact somewhat a pleasure
especially given my wooden bowl and
lacquered spoon
and the organic ingredients
but at the same time
i am only doing it so that
later
or sooner
i won't be fainting
i'm unreasonable
but i have a modicum of sense
it's made all the more luxurious
by a cup of freshly made coffee
with actual cream in it
but shouldn't i be
what is it?
trimming the trees?
images in my mind's eye
an it's not that i particularly
put them there
for what it's worth
of certain Africans
who
this is my emotion
exemplify honor
a gentleman who is farming
when i say he is a gentleman
i don't mean he is a fancy person
although he seems quite dignified
and a lady who
along, actually, with many others
goes to the market every day
to operate a stand
another young gentle lady
traveling by boat
a day too
to study
returns to find her village sacked
by the Dutch
but carries on
and i can't even bring myself
to cut a branch
just want to sit in front of the crystal box
looking at pictures
well
this is about the pursuit of power
if all my neurosis will allow is writing
what then?
