Monday, April 19, 2010


Our lives are full, too full--
But full of what? TV and dis-ease,
Distant neighbors just there across the street
Or on the left beyond the fence—
All I know of them is the constancy of their yapping dog,
And all they know of me is that I haven’t killed that dog.

It's all true, it's all false,
It's all a great grief and all a great relief.
It's nothing we didn't mean
And nothing that meant very much,
We still are not subject to sense, but only to sensations
We submit to alive
Though each maintains that all is hubris,
And is all we may ever achieve.


Current draft: 4/19/2010
Created on 12/25/2009 7:01 PM

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Abandon hope, all ye who enter here! (At least put on your socks and pants.)