Wednesday, July 17, 2024

QUICK HITS

As the distance
increases, all images 
dissolve themselves—

all objects, 
in the big 
bang, white hot 

mania 
of their expansion, 

are spun into the beatific 
clichés of dime-
store mysteries. 

Take that distant 
undulating 

scramble 
of pigeons, for instance;
 
to witness it 
hurtle 
toward cheap abstraction, 

like a cut-rate 
cigarette, is  
still my small pleasure—although

to not comprehend 
what the purpose 
or goal is 

still my great 
privilege.