Archive for September, 2014

Rockaway

I was swimming the other day
Along the coast of the Rockaway Peninsula
When a flock of hundreds of birds
Came in low out of nowhere
Eyes dark and determined

And then I thought of François Mitterrand
How he served thirty Ortolan buntings
For one of his last meals, how they are
Caught alive, blinded, force-fed and drowned in Armagnac
So as to be killed and marinated in one fell swoop

I have never been this close to so many birds
See how they dare make themselves available
In the silvery, silent end of season
So majestic and yet so at hand
The significance if which, I have decided,

Is more than just this

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Made by Human Hand

Open doors distract me
Closed doors confine
It’s hard to find a door
That I don’t seem to mind
 
I like the simplicity
Of these ancient quarters
Walls white as snow
Floors dark as water
 
Revolutions take all colors
Even hurricanes have names
Dictators claim the benefit of doubt
But their dead are still the same
 
Searching the stars above
Led to only earthly treasures
So I read my King James Bible
For its smell of burgundy leather
 
It takes such limpid rhymes
Regret comes second-hand
Man’s search for tangible beauty
For things not made by human hand

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