Credo in a kind of American jewish Hamlet-like bagel, too round for action yet leavened enough by contact with the near-dead past--you call it landscape, I call it history--to provide a layered vantage. Round yet curiously unconscious in the center as if problems with royal parentage might be dissolved by fanatic attention to ideological festschrifts. Heart beats, mind overflows, whose news is this? Turn, turn again, spread a minimum of cream cheese, feed desire its networks. A you for all our little secrets. But if I have to vote, kneel, root, fax & already feel, as opposed to an unrehearsed life, well, slide over a few inches & we'll nudge each other's public. Not the heresy of paraphrase, not the heresay of phrase, but a general agreement to differ from ourselves. |
© 1996