Idaho Arts Quarterly » Musings



The brain sorts consciousness

into want and defilement

Put truth anyplace

Just as easily in the tree

as the flame

Why do I want to walk behind the mirror

just eat berries

with my cub The entire delusion

stories, because I don't care what happens,

don't function as warning.

The pattern is more like rain. I own no formal concern

intent on purchasing past centuries

the earth, its songs, another

bountiful hollow and another...

Deep inside not one soul can sleep through universe

This love loves us though we can never gaze

upon its figure

& watchful is the open field intact

we might graze upon in matter

The bear licks my ear where I am

not the flickering disc

of universe-sized sheath

containing our elaboration

The apple falls into my Newtonian mouth

for consciousness of life and death

Explicit post-Cartesian reference

to the soul, head

but soul lives where membrane is

and nowhere isn't Spheres without geometry

vibrate pure sound as lasting

thirty-eight year old woman

cradling black bear cub

outside State or Variations I hold and I hold

Such physical tragicomedy we bear for the forest

It will all be okay if anyone makes the forest