tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79435676956673067172024-03-18T18:45:42.574-05:00RHYTHM IS THE INSTRUMENTMinistry without religion, since 2013.Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comBlogger3295125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-27155711894166970772024-03-18T18:42:00.001-05:002024-03-18T18:45:09.952-05:00TO THE VERNAL EQUINOXEven though we <div>know that we know <div><br /><div><div>how soon, how </div><div>benignly, how inexorably </div><div>you'll arrive, </div><div><br /></div><div>still we turn </div><div>our faces to the sky </div><div><br /></div><div>to gawk in surprise </div><div>at your arrival,</div><div><br /></div><div>as though it were </div><div>the very first time—as though </div><div><br /></div><div>we did <i>not know </i></div><div>that we know </div><div><br /></div><div>how long we have </div><div>languished here, stymied </div><div>by the poem</div><div><br /></div><div>and pining for days </div><div>when the world </div><div>would receive us </div><div><br /></div><div>into more than </div><div>just a waiting room; </div><div><br /></div><div>when nothing </div><div>would seem necessary </div><div><br /></div><div>except (perhaps) </div><div>contingency; </div><div><br /></div><div>when the language </div><div>of flowers </div><div>would not just <i>inform,</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>but truly <i>overwhelm </i></div><div>the flowers </div><div>of language. </div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-47865499294539643882024-03-15T18:51:00.000-05:002024-03-15T18:51:37.241-05:00OUT OF THE QUESTIONHave you not realized <div>by now how your </div><div>most fervent wish <div><br /></div><div>has always been </div><div>to ditch this existence,</div><div>to become somehow </div><div><br /></div><div>different, to turn </div><div>into someone else? </div><div>Thousands upon thousands </div><div><br /></div><div>of spins around this Earth—</div><div>a conduit of translation, </div><div>a passionate observer </div><div><br /></div><div>of births and </div><div>of deaths—and yet, </div><div>oblivious to these motions, </div><div><br /></div><div>your sights have been set </div><div>not on the longing </div><div>for contentment, </div><div><br /></div><div>or for happiness, but </div><div>instead, on the hunger </div><div>to be <i>other than </i>you are—as if </div><div><br /></div><div>the one with whom </div><div>you've sat and borne</div><div>witness to these moments </div><div><br /></div><div>was not but an awkward </div><div>and a sheer and total stranger, </div><div>with whom you still find</div><div><br /></div><div>yourself thrilled </div><div>(as well as frightened)</div><div>to sit and share the dark. </div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-20754112640448760052024-03-14T19:22:00.003-05:002024-03-15T15:53:57.272-05:00PRAYERBy now, I've said <div>[your name]</div><div>out loud </div><div><br /><div><div><div>so many times in a row, </div><div>that it's done meaning </div><div>everything </div><div><br /></div><div>which I seemed </div><div>to seek salvation from,</div><div><br /></div><div>gone long past </div><div>the sound of the cooed </div><div>gibberish whose </div><div><br /></div><div>infantile pleasures I </div><div>barely recall—</div></div><div><br /></div><div>and <i>officially</i> now </div><div>has arrived </div><div>as a stand-in </div><div><br /></div><div>for any </div><div>thought I could think</div><div>at all. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-18282814682979359402024-03-13T19:57:00.001-05:002024-03-13T19:57:12.134-05:00FULL ANALYSIS W/ COMMENTARYYour love: <div>it's so much </div><div><div>like a dream</div><div><div><br /></div><div><div>that I'm never sure </div><div>how long </div><div>it lasted, </div><div><br /></div><div>or what it was </div></div></div></div><div>supposed </div><div>to mean.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-75581918911902440302024-03-12T19:22:00.001-05:002024-03-12T19:22:44.245-05:00SHITSHOW Finding I'm faced <div>west at sunset <div><div>and alone, I understand </div><div><br /></div><div>how the only </div></div><div>things I've ever owned </div><div><br /></div><div>are the failures, mistakes, and </div><div>misconceptions </div><div>which have plagued me—</div><div><br /></div><div>how they all staggered </div><div>after me, like the undead </div><div>in a horror film, </div><div><br /></div><div>with hands stretched </div><div>when I tried to ditch them;</div></div><div><br /></div><div>each so sincere </div><div>in its resolute faith </div><div><br /></div><div>that its clever machination</div><div>could spring me </div><div>from the present jam;</div><div><br /></div><div>and all of them </div><div>correct (despite their </div><div>grave miscalculations) that, </div><div><br /></div><div>despite my refusal </div><div>to let them </div><div>touch my skin, </div><div><br /></div><div>it has always been </div><div>my running from them </div><div><br /></div><div>which has brought me </div><div>where I am.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-24931169771412785692024-03-11T19:34:00.003-05:002024-03-11T22:36:08.156-05:00SELFEven when I refuse to, <div>it feels like I am still </div><div>searching for you—</div><div><br /></div><div>you, whom I'm sure </div><div>I remember, </div><div><br /></div><div>though the last time </div><div>we spoke, there was silence </div><div>between us, </div><div><br /></div><div>and the last time we were together </div><div>in the same room was </div><div>long ago—</div><div><br /></div><div>you, who never once tried to </div><div>explain to me </div><div>your identity, as if </div><div><br /></div><div>the inadmissibility </div><div>of language </div><div><br /></div><div>was all you could need </div><div>for evidence. </div><div>You—</div><div><br /></div><div>whom I know beyond</div><div>the darkest shadow </div><div><br /></div><div>of reason </div><div>that I must love,</div><div>even though</div><div><br /></div><div>your existence </div><div>I will never be able </div><div>to prove. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-55500064728373716402024-03-08T19:35:00.007-06:002024-03-08T19:41:33.572-06:00COPACETIC At the end of the hall <div>which is <div>all that exists between us, </div><div><br /></div><div>there used to be </div><div>an unlocked door </div><div><br /></div><div>through which we </div><div>could pass </div><div>on an errand or two </div><div><br /></div><div>to the stacks—</div><div>those dank archives of </div><div>pitiful feeling </div><div><br /></div><div>we'd been hording </div><div>on the off-chance </div><div><br /></div><div>an adventurer </div><div>would come looking </div><div><br /></div><div>and discover there </div><div>the treasure that would </div><div>make them world-famous. </div><div><br /></div><div>And through that hall </div><div>and the labyrinths </div><div>which surround it </div><div><br /></div><div>have long since fallen </div><div>into disrepair, </div><div><br /></div><div>I can tell from this distance </div><div>that the door </div><div>is still there—because </div><div><br /></div><div>every time you ask me </div><div>where I've been or </div><div>how it's going, </div><div><br /></div><div>I can faintly hear </div><div>the quick pop </div><div>of a lock—and the sound </div><div><br /></div><div>of it stubbornly </div><div>creaking open.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-55344662381977137462024-03-07T19:28:00.002-06:002024-03-07T19:33:34.811-06:00I BLAME THE INTERNETThere are drawbacks <div>to knowing what everything </div><div>is for.</div><div><br /></div><div>Around every corner, </div><div>there used to be </div><div>dangers, so </div><div><br /></div><div>we had to be </div><div>cautious—but also </div><div>much braver. </div><div><br /></div><div>Life itself </div><div>was sacramental, </div><div><br /></div><div>so everyone on Earth </div><div>was religious </div><div>by nature.</div><div><br /></div><div>But now we know </div><div>that <i>divinity </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>was only <i>eternity's </i></div><div>loud and tacky </div><div>costume—and worse: </div><div><br /></div><div>that the universe </div><div>is really just </div><div>a courtroom,</div><div><br /></div><div>wherein </div><div>the most impassioned </div><div>argument</div><div><br /></div><div>writes the headline </div><div>and the nomenclature. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-28371512840175472302024-03-06T19:32:00.003-06:002024-03-06T19:32:45.208-06:00SCHOOLEDSo, what then<div>is the difference <div>between </div><div><br /></div><div>resentful </div><div>and jealous? </div></div><div><br /></div><div>There the sparrows, </div><div>all congregated </div><div>naked in the still-</div><div>dead bushes, </div><div><br /></div><div>and the sound of their chirping has</div><div>unfastened me a little:</div><div><br /></div><div>how recklessly </div><div>happy—how delirious </div><div>they sound,</div><div><br /></div><div>and how foreign </div><div>to my marrow </div><div>it is to celebrate </div><div>deficiency</div><div><br /></div><div>just </div><div>by subsisting here, </div><div>at the tail-end of winter,</div><div><br /></div><div>so cold, and so </div><div>conscious, and so violent-</div><div>ly hungry. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-4533313572388368782024-03-05T18:48:00.003-06:002024-03-05T18:49:30.592-06:00SPELLBOUNDThe softest pedal <div>on the piano </div><div>must be down, </div><div><br /></div><div>smearing those unhurried </div><div>arpeggios </div><div>into clouds—</div><div><br /></div><div>strange-</div><div>ly shaped formations, </div><div>barely there, </div><div><br /></div><div>but half-occluded </div><div>by devotion's </div><div>hungry shadow </div><div><br /></div><div>outlasting </div><div>my impatience </div><div>and every expectation </div><div><br /></div><div>to have </div><div>moments ago </div><div>outgrown this fascination </div><div><br /></div><div>and snapped </div><div>back off </div><div>the radio. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-29773835065031756162024-03-04T19:06:00.004-06:002024-03-04T19:06:30.246-06:00NOT MUCH OF A CLIFFHANGERHave you noticed—<div>when it comes to being </div><div>out of our depth, </div><div><br /></div><div>the harder-</div><div>up we get, the less </div><div>help we'll accept? </div><div><br /></div><div>It's like: for over half </div><div>of the film, we've been </div><div>hanging from the cliff, </div><div><br /></div><div>fingers growing </div><div>gradually wetter </div><div>with sweat; </div><div><br /></div><div>but instead </div><div>of either keeping </div><div>our strength conserved </div><div> </div><div>or clamoring </div><div>loud as we can </div><div>for a savior,</div><div><br /></div><div>we'd rather flail </div><div>our legs until </div><div>our grip has collapsed, </div><div><br /></div><div>then curse the long- </div><div>gone villain to our </div><div>very last breath. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-51950932724114517682024-03-01T18:00:00.002-06:002024-03-01T18:01:17.783-06:00A REASONABLE FACSIMILE Are there thoughts <div>we can't think? </div><div>Are there </div><div><br /></div><div>elevated spaces </div><div>where the likes of us </div><div>are not invited? </div><div><br /></div><div>Or dispositions </div><div>so base—winged, fork-</div><div>tongued emotions </div><div><br /></div><div>with scales </div><div>for skin and garish </div><div>horns on their faces—</div><div><br /></div><div>that to sanction their </div><div>attainment would </div><div>be tantamount </div><div><br /></div><div>to damnation? </div><div>Such a blanket blockade </div><div>is itself hard </div><div><br /></div><div>to imagine.</div><div>(<i>Hard,</i> yes—but not </div><div>impossible. </div><div><br /></div><div>We are permitted, </div><div>it would seem, </div><div>to conjure—if not </div><div><br /></div><div>dragons—then at least </div><div>their descriptions </div><div>and pictures.)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-68488929985988757792024-02-29T19:11:00.003-06:002024-02-29T19:11:46.339-06:00CHORESThis is not <div>a request. And it's </div><div>not a proposition. </div><div><br /></div><div>A <i>duty </i></div><div>is not </div><div><br /></div><div>transferable, </div><div>or open </div><div>to negotiation—only you </div><div><br /></div><div>can do </div><div>what has got to </div><div>get done. You must </div><div><br /></div><div>grab a hold </div><div>of this man</div><div>whom you've become,</div><div><br /></div><div>this person </div><div>whose life you've </div><div>tramped upon,</div><div><br /></div><div>whose corners </div><div>you've frayed and seams </div><div>you've rent—</div><div><br /></div><div>take it </div><div>and string it up fast </div><div>like a rug </div><div><br /></div><div>to that razor-</div><div>thin line in the sky </div><div>of tough love—take it </div><div><br /></div><div>and beat it </div><div>clean again. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-44478647261869248072024-02-28T19:26:00.002-06:002024-02-29T18:48:01.109-06:00SECOND WINDThe instant <div>our ship finally </div><div>grinds to rest </div><div><br /></div><div>on the rocky beach-</div><div>head of true</div><div>hopelessness, </div><div><br /></div><div>we're more than a little </div><div>nonplussed </div><div>to discover it's </div><div><br /></div><div>far less depleting </div><div>than we'd been led </div><div>to suspect.</div><div><br /></div><div>Turns out, </div><div>even <i>despair</i> </div><div>feels like </div><div><br /></div><div>arriving somewhere;</div><div>and, tired </div><div>and filthy </div><div><br /></div><div>and hungry </div><div>though we are,</div><div>we still eagerly </div><div><br /></div><div>throw the ship</div><div>in <i>park</i> and </div><div>go explore. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-82799488416660994862024-02-27T18:57:00.004-06:002024-02-27T18:59:42.287-06:00180Everyone wants <div>their own <br /><div><div><div>sudden epiphany,<div><div><br /></div><div>but often, </div><div>what's required first </div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>is something more like </div><div>a revelation </div><div>in reverse. </div><div><br /></div><div>That is: <i>not</i> </div><div>in a flash, </div><div>but something more</div><div><br /></div><div>like a dirge, </div><div>some judgement </div><div>or conviction </div><div><br /></div><div>about which we </div><div>used to be <i>so sure </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>gradually loses all its </div><div>upward momentum </div><div><br /></div><div>and lazily, </div><div>inexorably falls </div><div>back to Earth;</div><div><br /></div><div>like a very nearly- </div><div>grand slam crack</div><div><br /></div><div>that drops </div><div>an inch before </div><div>the centerfield wall, </div><div><br /></div><div>some suspicion </div><div>or assumption </div><div><br /></div><div>that we used to call </div><div>a fact</div><div><br /></div><div>gets softened </div><div>and lightened into </div><div>just another fiction </div><div><br /></div><div>before it can </div><div>smother us all.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-31271796653307033352024-02-26T19:03:00.002-06:002024-02-26T19:03:08.199-06:00CRUX OF THE MATTERIt's astounding for an eye <div>at the boundary <div>to behold</div><div><br /></div><div>such majestic, </div><div>relentless rotational </div><div>symmetry. Unimaginable,</div><div><br /></div><div>yet ravishing </div><div>how much faith </div><div>gets bestowed </div><div><br /></div><div>from one's perch </div><div>at the edge on one point </div><div>in the middle. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's more than a little </div><div>unnerving, in fact, </div><div>how over-</div><div><br /></div><div>enthusiastically </div><div>all we know is turning</div><div>around the black </div><div><br /></div><div>hole of a premise that </div><div>there's one thing </div><div>that won't. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-89603530815423152692024-02-23T19:31:00.006-06:002024-02-23T19:31:46.833-06:00DEAR COMPULSIONSWhat would my life be like <div>without you? <div><div>(It's actually</div><div><br /></div><div>hard to imagine </div><div>without being </div><div>forced to.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I wonder: </div><div>are you always </div><div>so sure of yourself? Or</div><div><br /></div><div>is it just that, when compared </div><div>with<i> my </i>thoughts, yours</div><div>know better? (At least,</div><div><br /></div><div>so you somehow manage </div><div>to assert </div><div>without a word.)</div><div><br /></div><div>And how do you </div><div>sleep at night, o </div><div>monkey on my back? (I mean,</div><div><br /></div><div>aren't you afraid </div><div>I might, some day, </div><div>roll over?) More importantly, </div><div><br /></div><div>how do I sleep either </div><div>without those</div><div>ceaseless reminders</div><div><br /></div><div>for six or seven dark hours</div><div>who I am—why </div><div>I matter?</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-43899742326321139452024-02-22T19:07:00.005-06:002024-02-25T21:06:15.507-06:00SOMETHING<div>There is always something </div><div>indescribable </div><div><br /></div><div>in the need you </div><div>feel to write things down—</div><div><br /></div><div>something unsayable </div><div>in the sounds</div><div><br /></div><div>your mouth must </div><div>use to say so.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's something about a raven </div><div>(or a crow, </div><div>more likely)</div><div><br /></div><div>always pecking </div><div>the peripheral, always </div><div>needling away </div><div><br /></div><div>at the corners </div><div>of your temples; </div><div><br /></div>something about <div>your penchant </div><div><div>for holding your breath </div><div><br /></div><div>well past </div><div>the point of discomfort, </div><div>to distress</div><div><br /></div><div>just to sharpen </div><div>to the point of exhilaration</div><div><br /></div><div>the pleasure of setting it </div><div>free once again; </div><div><br /></div><div>something </div><div>about finding divine-</div><div>ly comic inspiration </div><div><br /></div><div>traced out by wandering </div><div>motes of dust </div><div><br /></div><div>in the window-</div><div>stretched light of a </div><div>tapioca sun—the same sun </div><div><br /></div><div>that has lulled you </div><div>into happy, ochre </div><div>thoughts of love—</div><div><br /></div><div>the same sun </div><div>that must burn until </div><div>it swells </div><div><br /></div><div>up and </div><div>kills everyone.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-81229600632531406802024-02-21T19:22:00.010-06:002024-02-21T19:22:43.901-06:00TO FUTILITY<div>There is still so much </div><div>left to affect</div><div>in this life, </div><div><br /></div><div>and (I know) </div><div>not enough left </div><div>of time, sweat, and blood.</div><div><br /></div><div>But still, I must bask </div><div>in the gravity </div><div>of walking; </div><div><br /></div><div>still I must claim </div><div>every breath</div><div>as a trust,</div><div><br /></div><div>as a flame </div><div>on a votive candle, </div><div>lit in thanksgiving,</div><div><br /></div><div>as a theme song </div><div>for the wildness</div><div>and the honor of everything—</div><div><br /></div><div>for the privilege </div><div>of knowing that all of this </div><div>began with light, </div><div><br /></div><div>and that all, </div><div>as it must, will end </div><div>in dust.</div><div><br /></div><div>My clavicles </div><div>and the gray of my </div><div>temples may be showing,</div><div><br /></div><div>aged </div><div>by their prematurely-</div><div>accumulated grace;</div><div><br /></div><div>my bones may be softer,</div><div>my pace may be </div><div>slowing—but still </div><div><br /></div><div>I draw </div><div>the next breath. </div><div>Still I will keep going.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-77719049939343335312024-02-20T19:07:00.002-06:002024-02-20T19:15:05.081-06:00OVER MY DEAD BODYA change of heart <div>is the hardest thing </div><div>to hold out for. </div><div><br /></div><div>A mind may </div><div>just be so inclined </div><div><br /></div><div>by the new light </div><div>of facts or data </div><div>charts, but alas, </div><div><br /></div><div>there are </div><div>no counterparts </div><div><br /></div><div>in atonement, </div><div>forgiveness, and</div><div>reconciliation.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>no great </div><div>conflagration of patience </div><div>and time;</div></div><div><br /></div><div>no new information </div><div>or updated priors,</div><div><br /></div><div>will ever counteract </div><div>the resolve</div><div>of an organ </div><div><br /></div><div>that would sooner </div><div>get attacked</div><div><br /></div><div>than get made </div><div>into a liar.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-36579905434331227352024-02-19T19:28:00.000-06:002024-02-19T19:28:28.429-06:00FIRST PERSON SINGULARIn the beginning—<div>before the word—</div><div><br /></div><div>there must </div><div>first have been </div><div>the relation </div><div><br /></div><div>between stillness </div><div>and vibration, </div><div><br /></div><div>between plain air </div><div>and the very first </div><div>breath's aspiration. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then, </div><div>out of silence </div><div>and isolation </div><div><br /></div><div>came the merely judicious </div><div>deployment</div><div>of solitude; </div><div><br /></div><div>past the unbounded, </div><div>uncrossable gulf </div><div>between humans</div><div><br /></div><div>came, not even</div><div>the God's </div><div>truth, but just </div><div><br /></div><div>the First </div><div>Person Singular—</div><div><br /></div><div>not wasting a moment </div><div>in exploring </div><div>its new power,</div><div><br /></div><div>not singing, </div><div>not laughing, </div><div><br /></div><div>but trying to </div><div>solicit you. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-89632955716297071822024-02-16T19:09:00.010-06:002024-02-16T19:14:13.524-06:00SOLODear face <div>in the mirror, what's </div><div>it like</div><div><br /></div><div>to weigh</div><div>nothing? </div><div><br /></div><div>What's it like </div><div>to have no name? </div><div>What's it like </div><div><br /></div><div>mouthing questions </div><div>which you didn't first </div><div>conceive? </div><div><br /></div><div>What's it like to be </div><div>a slave—</div><div><br /></div><div>always locked </div><div>into a stare, always </div><div><br /></div><div>getting </div><div>it all backwards, </div><div>always placed</div><div><br /></div><div>in a slight </div><div>square of space </div><div><br /></div><div>which is nowhere? </div><div>Is it worth it </div><div>to show up here </div><div><br /></div><div>first thing </div><div>every morning? And</div><div><br /></div><div>anyway, how </div><div>far away </div><div>is it, I wonder, </div><div><br /></div><div>from here— </div><div>where I doubt-</div><div><br /></div><div>lessly stand—to right </div><div>there?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-19015968066851755772024-02-15T19:11:00.003-06:002024-02-15T19:13:27.150-06:00ON THE SOUL AND ITS ORIGIN The question <div>I ponder, but </div><div><br /></div><div>could never dare<br /><div><div>confront</div><div><br /></div><div>is never: excuse </div><div>me, is there</div><div>anybody in there? </div><div><br /></div><div>It's more like: </div><div>how many? </div><div>And where </div><div><br /></div><div>did everybody </div><div>come from? </div><div>And: are you all </div><div><br /></div><div>politely</div><div>taking turns</div><div><br /></div><div>denying my </div><div>inquiry for all </div><div>its absurdity? Or </div><div><br /></div><div>(and here, please, god </div><div>bless the auspicious-</div><div>ness of my ignorance)</div><div><br /></div><div>lambasting me </div><div>with silence </div><div><br /></div><div>in simultaneous </div><div>reply?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-67524826948256617422024-02-14T20:18:00.006-06:002024-02-15T18:29:42.513-06:00TO THE BLUE SKY—how is it <div>you remain <div><div>so light </div><div><br /></div><div>and wide and </div><div>gaping </div><div><div>all the time? </div><div><br /></div><div>Always exposed; </div><div>always </div><div>so susceptible </div></div><div><br /></div><div>to the slightest </div><div>perturbations </div><div><br /></div><div>and super-</div><div>saturation with </div><div>Earthly imposters?</div><div><br /></div><div>Unlike you, I'd</div><div>make a poor </div><div>open sore: </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm too often </div><div>oppressed </div><div><br /></div><div>by the absence </div><div>of low pressure;</div><div><br /></div><div>I too</div><div>quickly grow </div><div>uncomfortable </div><div><br /></div><div>with my own lack </div><div>of obscurity. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7943567695667306717.post-30101294628039237662024-02-13T18:59:00.008-06:002024-02-13T21:12:14.581-06:00SUNNY SIDE<i> Keep on the sunny side, </i><div><i> always on the sunny side</i><div><i> keep on the sunny side of life.<br /> It will help us every day, </i></div><div><i> it will brighten up the way<br /> if we keep on the sunny side of life.</i></div><div><i> —</i>Carter Family<div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Doesn't matter<div>how spare </div><div><br /></div><div>or how dense </div><div>the situation gets;</div><div><br /></div><div>in either case, </div><div>we're told </div><div><br /></div><div>to bear </div><div>the stress</div><div><br /></div><div>and make the </div><div>most of it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our agonies</div><div>increase</div><div><br /></div><div>from exquisite </div><div>to intense—</div><div><br /></div><div>our green pastures </div><div>now consist </div><div><br /></div><div>of just a fraction </div><div>of an inch—</div><div><br /></div><div>and still </div><div>we feel the pull </div><div><br /></div><div>to flex a smile </div><div>and claim we're </div><div><br /></div><div>cool with it—</div><div>as though </div><div><br /></div><div>our acquiescence </div><div>fed the wolf </div><div><br /></div><div>or paid the rent—</div><div>as though </div><div><br /></div><div>we earned </div><div>our blessings </div><div><br /></div><div>just by saying we've </div><div>been blessed. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Dan Smarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00275834287526745242noreply@blogger.com