Friday, January 27, 2006

Sincere Reflections Upon Walking to the Library on a Snowy Day

  all bad poetry was unfailingly sincere
  -Harold Bloom
Colors, traps of the spectrum,
each a world,
can do no better.
But I, I can follow infinite futures
A multitude, like cat's claws,
stretch out before me.

Today I'm searching
for Heidegger's boots
in the Binghamton library.

I cannot retrace these steps.
I cannot uncome here,
but I can stay
or go.
I can fold up this notebook and,
according to library policy,
check out this DVD on Johnny Carson.

I can clear the yellow wood,
so to speak,
in a bonfire of futures.
It will make no difference,
trapping red and yellow hyacinth explosions.

I may not fold up this notebook.

I may start a new stanza
according to my whim.
I am utterly lost and silly, staring
in the face of my own potential,
trying to hold it like a polaroid picture.

I am walking home now,
with Johnny Carson DVDs,
writing with the ink of memory.
Nobody knows which future I should
check out.
There is no scripture
but to keep on walking,
step by step,
with the faith of generations.

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