You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.
Would have been better to keep an existential eye…
while looking between green gray hues
and, peering at anemic disarray.
Languid disorders, sight unseen,
grappling with a colorful mind…
Well, in earnest, it is an ordeal best suited for the unrefined.
Dragnets flung over the road maps,.
collecting ‘speaking in third person’…
like passing the hat.
Well noted, a window’s pardoning glare,
with a quick glimpse forward,
to be or not to be…be aware.
Forthwith, we will beg,
pardon my stare.
Pardon my stare.
“There is something infantile in the presumption that somebody else has a responsibility to give your life meaning and point… The truly adult view, by contrast, is that our life is as meaningful, as full and as wonderful as we choose to make it.” ― Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion