Well, while I'm here I'll do the work—and
what's the work? To ease the pain of living.
—Allen Ginsberg
What is my work—
sitting cross-legged on the
floor for ages
being still or
turning pages
before a stubborn low table
seeking both excitement and oblivion
with equally stable
concentration
seeking an obligation so great
it is my hope to attend to
as little of it as possible
seeking a word
which is study
but weightless as a light beam is
seeking an image pure and eternal
but transient like the melody
of a vanishing bird
seeking
one sentence—so perfect
it helps you persist
even though it
doesn't exist.
