William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings


Late yesterday evening, I was taking a barefoot stroll through the clover in front of the house when I saw, about ten feet away, a fine healthy skunk in the shade garden, quietly sniffing amongst the ferns. It had two white stripes. It seemed not to notice me. And in that instant I didn’t notice myself. That came immediately after, when I softly turned away and left it alone.

There are so many things we repeat without thinking, and by which process we come to believe are true. We repeat each other, we repeat ourselves, as if our purpose is to create, through words, a massive library of stock images suitable for every occasion. And we do — except for the one and only one, which is happening now.

August 2, 2022


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Categories: A Few More Scratches

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4 replies

  1. At this phase of metamorphing, I delight in the ‘defaults and pre-sets’. With bodily engagement on autopilot, the spirit is freed to soar.

    Some say skunk perfume smells like strong coffee. I enjoy a good dark roast… and skunks amongst the ferns. ~ . ~

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    • Several years ago, our youngest son’s guitar case was sprayed by a skunk, not to mention the pants he was wearing. He didn’t think it smelled like coffee, and he had a number of days to make that determination.

      “Dear Spirit,” the body said, “take me with you when you go.”

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