Monday, June 29, 2015

How often in the name of stability
we have insisted on sadness?

Good G.K.C. - my friend and saint -
wrote well about this state, wherein

the plod of solemnity and weight
is absolutely easy to maintain

precisely for the reason it is
a forced incapacity, a mono-chord

that leaves out the effortless lightness
of our being's contingency.

It is difficulty sealed, rounded
back on itself. But one only breaks

into a smile, into a new vista,
into a skyward sprawling tree

splitting the husk of the seed.
You know, I do not think my Uncle Chestnut

was as fat as he pretended to be.

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