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the saddest blog that ever was
5.03.2004:
Parhelia (for R. D.)
so i heard.
you shot down all ten of those suns burning to the ground leaving streaming
fiery bits and pieces.
the collective townspeople grumbling under their breaths
moaning and heaving at the dust,
the coldness; it is so cold.
i first taught you how to string a bow:
"here, like this, into the recurve notch across the lower and upper limb
and wind through the tip, always grip firmly what you can't see..."
now the baker leaves his yeasty dough on my doorstep, unleavened
next to the butcher's spiteful eye of cow pooling blood gathering its tendons and strings about itself
for a halo.
parhelia.
i warned you about the appearance of false suns,
false light finally spotted off the coast of Frascati, Rome: 20, March 1629.
you never mentioned archery nudity vortices wooden arrows my lost bowstringer
stolen
because the universe is a plenum and i can stand to be empty.
you who were always there
now marks-smith of the gods, arch-slinger of the divine, deist clock-watcher extraordinaire
most replete satisfaction of a tale well-told
shot my suns
to fill the void [that you did not believe in]
left by my former occupancy. atomism has its consequences.
Blog // 4:48 PM
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