Sunday, March 30, 2008

The Coast

This is the beach where the fiddler crabs first drew the outlines of their slanted homes among the eel grass. The beach where catapults were first used on people. Where the wind would kick up the writer’s papers forcing him to run home to his slippers and cognac. The beach where William the conquer set out to bring Shakespeare a dictionary. The beach where there were a few suicides, and murders and where people got caught in the riptide. Where every day for a few weeks a boy was swept away. It is the beach where the war added casualties. Where Borges added a mythology. Where I added a few stones and you your Dansani as this ever expanding horrible world of seaweed swayed.

The Current Stare of Affairs

It was a sound  way off on the green lawn A bank of birds A signature somewhere Like any line Might be my last I walked by the panzer tank  ...