Poem For The Optimism Conversation

PAINTED SHUT

Green vulgarities
thoughts of a friend's troubles.

From the times,
what we can squeeze,
a mighty noise?

Quietude: an underfelt rage?
Quietude: our painted shut
selective sights,

e(x)ternal
honest weather
our summer, our winter.

What dioramas,
these vistas.

And what do we do
with the poems of our climate
with the rattle we hope to shake?

Wear it like a cloak and
H I D E

b/t the letters that animate
the proverbs of hell.

spirit spirit

+++++++++++++++++


blah blah blah. this poem was all i could write after considering everything slightly more, talking to Lauren on the phone about the world and years, and reading the post from Catherine, in her real "Gnostic Contagion."

I started reading Goethe's "Faust" which is, unconceivably amazing, with a breadth and humor and MYNDE - reading it is physical in the way that reading the "Duino Elegies" is a physical experience. A quick sample from what must be an amazing translation. "let Resoluteness promptly seize / the forelock of the Possible." All I can say is, !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. Yes, that's all.

M. Savitz and I went to the Hawkeyes bar in Chicago's lustrous Lakeview neighborhood. It was like being in Iowa City on a Saturday. Harumph.

Also, the bank thermometers told us that the temperature here in Chicago was 72 F, which is generally a good reason to want to live, says the daimon of the weather, smarting in young cold.

We're going over to J. Daniel's place to watch "Purple Rain," This was the Cultural Specialist's idea.

goonight.