Saturday, November 22, 2003
Twenty seconds tops
Can the body distinguish between types of sugars:
refined white, ungranuatlated, honey, bread?
It seems not.
There are no sugars here,
And Almitra David’s springtime,
that is, Primavera, she wrote:
"I want not to want this.
…to accept, like the elephant whose
last set of molars has ground down
when it is time to die."
A poem from her Quaker
memorial service earlier today.
I did not know her.
Late November is no time to point out the small, but tall
patch of grass growing in the light of the rooftop drain.
But you do, and you should, and it is.
Not bothered, and even prick up the ears, to hear:
"I need to get up on the ceiling to do it right."
Then the letter to Stanley
about Spicer’s "half fish half flesh"
letter to Lorca and
"the immediate object,"
which is open to speculation,
though "the fish being Jack," is not.
Salty Scroodle (or Screwdle)
Cook in pan for awhile.
Sprinkle with dried beef.