A setting moon, like a setting hen. And both of them brood.
The seemingly nondescript plumage of birds viewed from a distance, and then the sudden revelation of their bright markings and colors when they are near.
In the same way, people we are accustomed to seeing from a distance, and the surprise of their features in detail when we happen to meet them in person.
Assuming one’s hair serves a purpose beyond ornament and camouflage, it stands to reason that cutting it frequently, assaulting it with artificial colors, and washing it with the perfumed, boiled fat of factory-slaughtered animals would defeat it.
How can someone tell you what he is trying to say if he himself doesn’t know what it is? And yet, see how he persists!
April 18, 2019
How bare trees love the moon
How an orphan grows
How dreams please themselves
How we know the moment
She goes sailing
Recently Banned Literature, March 4, 2014
Twelve Poems, Poets International