He destilled his pain repetitively.
It might have read pen.
He had scratched that out.
He distilled his pain...
He distilled his pain...
There was no point.
Just a dull throb...
Was there no way to rub that out?
Just pain,
Which kept him up,
And she let it drop.
No borrowed blades.
No resumption.
No conclusion.
 |
| Dorothy Parker |
No beating about the bush,
Dorothy,
Don't you go and dress it up now.
Only colour,
Only colour,
Will do.
Survival is a messy affair. We simmer around the edges of art, trying to find some hold. Some balance. Some ballast. It isn't always there. Keep looking. Others are looking, too.
ReplyDeleteKevin
A messy affair, a messy affair indeed.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
Makes me think about this video that goes along with David Foster Wallace's commence address, "This Is Water". You can watch my students dance around the maelstrom that is hidden beneath his message: https://vialogues.com/vialogues/play/30849/ It is a darkness in the muscle that cannot be massaged away, a knot that can only be covered and ignored...for a little while.
ReplyDelete"We can't go over it, we can't go under it, we've got to go through it."
DeleteSounds like a battle call in WWI. Maybe we just leave it there and find another route to the place we want to go.
Delete