Wedge
The wedge of shadow
That comes and goes as
She stands swaying
On the front lawn
Shining like a dryad
On the crowded grass
Her sweet gravity
Has a kick to it
Partakes of an ecstacy
Intricate beyond concealment
Not completely desirable
Or even very likely
This is how things get out of bounds
Dizzily conscious fumbling insensate
In the shade of the lonely palm
All history circling the drain
The Superstition of the 13
Slow inhalation
To disintegration
Filaments glowing
Remember
The Italian girl
The first day of class
Cold smile
She says
13 at the table
One of us will die
She gets up and leaves
I follow
The enigma of choice
The man on the bridge photographing us
Side stepping as we veer out of the frame
The embroidery at the hem of her skirt
Harvest sun and moon indistinct
At opposite ends of the sky
On the riverbank
Birds peck at bread
Deep colors emerging
Shining from the hall of light
Slow vibration
The grass waving
Wheat glowing
At the root
An Ohio born mystery
Of planetary opportunity
Department of synchronicity:
Because of the role that Ibsen’s "The Wild duck" played in Dag Solstad’s Shyness & Dignity (reviewed in this blog 7/28/06) I decided to pick up a copy (There’s a nice Dover Thrift Edition out there for a mere $2) as I had never read it. Idly opening it the first exchange of dialogue that struck my eye went as follows:
Werle (in a low voice, dejectedly).
I don’t think anybody noticed it, Gregers.
Gregers (looks at him)
Noticed what?
Werle. Did you not it either?
Gregers.
What do you mean?
Werle.
We were thirteen at table.
Gregers.
Indeed? Were there thirteen of us?
Dodododo Considering I’d just resuscitated and illuminated my old poem "The Superstition of the 13" which appears above I think you can safely cue the Twilight Zone music here….
your host,
UBU
A Leak In The Safe 