Sunday, March 13, 2011

for Rhapsody: fragments

A few fragments from my writing based on the work of Vasudev. These were written together but none of them went anywhere. These are the best ideas from that day.

All men are farmers
and all we seed is grown.
Our hands are thrown in every direction
and what is sown,
what is sown is everything.

My face is a fruit of no imagining.
My face is a flower in the future
peeled away like paper
fluttering in the wind but still not free,
like loosened leaf, like boyhood,
like birds, bicycles, and balloon rides.

I didn't put messages in a bottle and throw them to the sea, but I made little paper boats just perfect for puddlewater. No words. Just the impressions of my fingers. And the rains took my fingered fleet sailing through the gutters and down the drains, to where is unknown. And I would like to know what is shown. What is shown?

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