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PANDEMIC DREAMS
What I most want to do now,locked in by something unseen,is to wander the streets of citieshere, Europe, it hardly matters,and find statues whose plaquesare worn away or gone missing,now nameless souls of oncelesser fame meriting a bronzeor of such ego as donatingtheir own image to the town. They are forgotten souls, oftenrightfully so no…
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NATURAL LOGIC
Nature has a way of applyinga perfect logic that eludesits most complex creatures,we claiming to be first among them. Nature grants the houseflya quite short life, but allows itto see a thousand images at once,a lifetime of vision in mere days. The tortoise is consigned to crawlalong at a laggard’s pace, outrunby other animals, who…
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GANTO’S MEAL 鐵笛倒吹 語十四
When you visit a teacherinquire what he needsand freely offer him a meal,but ask nothing in return,if you pester himhe will greet youwith a blow of the stick. Come to him silentlywith an open heartand with empty handsand the Dharmawill be transmitted. A reflection on case 54 of the Iron Flute Koans
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T-CK T-CK
I cannot determine whymy clock only tocks, as ifsomewhere back timeits ticks beat a hasty retreat. My life is increasingly likethat, a growing series of disconnects,as if life itself, outside of meis enduring a progressive dementia. Perhaps I shouldn’t complain,for both time and I knowthat every one of those ticksis owed to me and I…
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KEGON RETURNS TO DELUSIONS 鐵笛倒吹 語十二
If a gentle flowerfalls from its branch,do you mourn its departure?The fool attemptsto place it back in the tree,the wise one waitsfor another flower to appear. Each is the same flowerbut how will the foolbecome wise? A reflection on case 52 of the Iron Flute Koans
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ME ME
Coming soon perhapsbut hard to saychoose carefully a moment whenmeme andavatarmerge and youcease to exist or exist twiceand whichyou isreal is leftto others but that youis immortalnow unlessbeset bya magneticcatastrophe, butyou’ll likelybe ashes andshould notgive a damn.
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ON THE WALL
Each morning, once I have completedthe often unpleasant task of draggingmyself from the womb of blankets, I makemy appearance in front of the mirror. I stare closely into it, and am unsurprisedto find it returning my stare,and on every occasion, I noticethat the mirror has once againchosen to wear the same clothes as I,albeit not…
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RETIREMENT
He would arrive as I was still strugglingto convince the dog that he didn’t needto drag me around the neighborhood,that he knew the backyard well enough. I’d lose the argument in the end, thatwas a given, but he’d concede meenough time to wolf down breakfast,and I’d hear the small door in the wallopen and then…
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A LOST PEN
I wrote a poem for my father,about how one afternoonthe oddly green ’57 Caddyappeared in the drivewayand he polished its chrome for hours,even waxed the black bumper bullets.It was the love of his lifehe said, except for his wife,he added after a moment.The years would provethat addition was most likely false.I could send him the…
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SKYWARD
It was a Thursday in August when he first noticed it. It was an unusually cool day, not the sort you’d expect in the middle of summer, but he knew the weather was ever more unpredictable. He was certain it hadn’t been there the day before, but he was surprised it was still there the…
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an old writer and his words 