the goat has eaten all the grass he can reach on his short tether. the ground around him is bare. he kicks up roots and gnaws on those. he has dug himself into a hole. his tether is a metal chain. he tries to bite into it.
the grass beyond his reach is tall and lush and ripe green. the child tries to yank up the grass but its grip on the ground is too strong. inside, on the wall, is a rusty sword. the child remembers about it, runs inside, climbs on a stool and lifts it down. it is heavy but not too heavy.
for Stan Lee
In Which we Meet the Suicidal God
As silence booms in a dark room whose only light
is the dying kind radiating off a dying laptop,
Dave Daggert, a desolate, destitute young man,
just days from drowsing off at his own college graduation,
stirs what his dealer calls Dragon’s blood
into his glass of Jack Daniel’s and dry gin.
Soon, he thinks: my past-sins and would-be failures will
be flushed into the bin. Excusing his confusing of
toilets and trash cans, we must be patient with young,
desperate Dave for he knows not what lies in store for him.
At least one of the panes in the warped and brittle frame was cracked enough to need a newspaper. You never bothered to replace it. From the desk, you looked across a small patch of gravel at another rowhouse, another upstairs window. Sometimes, a face would appear between the curtains, then vanish. You didn’t know it, but just a few years before a poet had died just a few doors up the street. The Greek Revival is brittle, and brick. The room is yellow and small and has a ceiling fan. On the wall, there’s a thriftstore reproduction of Goya’s little boy in red with all his birds and cats, next to him, a postcard of a coffin.
an authentic corruption
There is a corruption as old as being. We can see it in all things. Say, in language: each word a holed ship leaking meaning as it goes down. And in vision: between picturing and the picture a missing link continually dilating until it swallows both. There is an authentic corruption.
In fractal geometry we are able to measure. This is the miracle. Also, the impossibility of measuring. This is the catastrophe.
The great erasure which is happening now in the world is the work of souvenir collectors. The souvenir being the most valuable thing there is. It is the hardest currency. And the collectors think: it must not be left to the masses.
we are living the greatest loss
a common loss
a common loss of memory