“... poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought. The farthest horizons of our hopes and fears are cobbled by our poems, carved from the rock experiences of our daily lives.” --Audre Lorde
Monday, June 23, 2008
“I was to conduct an inventory, he says,” the man clearly tilting a little to the left side of near understanding. A boat passed, quietly and loaded with layers of colored boxes, like a steel rainbow of fruit flavors. Each color representing a particular type of potential luck or good energy as it passed across the water moved further from solid ground. Counting each color, starting over once, twice, a final time getting through the collection in its entirety, he scribbled in his book and mumbled the prayers that he claimed accompanied each fortuitously shaded square. We watched together, the details melting into what we imagined to have been pure possibility, floating away from foundation, spreading on the air.
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