on a bond, a passing, blessed bird over a pond, the nickel platitude: the customs of a complacent congre- gation, we are all gathered here, really, rolling right along. when was it commendable to be so confiding? not even kids anymore: even ages are toppling over each other, but it's more like folding, so that we're not laid out anymore, we're pressed over one another without the time, creased all around us, to smoothe out the wrinkles, mend up those frittered, jagged edges; where can I find you anymore? in what moment be- tween all this tumbling can we wonder, wander, pull delicately at the strings from each other's ears?
2005-07-23
[Originally posted on Tuesday, July 26, 2005.]