Saturday, May 8, 2010


A variety of care lands us in the soup. Care, sunshine, vintage cars, a pair of slim calves.

A life is stitched together, or built with blocks. And when a thread emerges, are we unravelling or stitching anew? Who is in control here: the fabric, God, or the person corresponding to a name on a social security card.

There is a natural argument, I contend. To work, refresh, and work again, that has been missing from my life. Thread or no thread, I have launched and am now countless days at sea in search of that argument. I cite and apologize for disrupture. I am alive to the issues.

Live or dying, I hope I can respond to the tap on my shoulder with a meaningful statement of my condition. I may not speak to you about what you are feeling. That does not mean I do not care.

How much of this is condition, and how much choice? I rebound from such mists as if electric-shocked. I must have coffee and make plans. Sunshine and cars, a movie, a new place to stay. Dreams, dreams, a body of work and dreams. How should one be disappointed in what we all already know?


ajd said...

In my read, this is way better and more poetic like Frank Ohara. Some claim Russian lietrary criticism was wrongly termed formalism in 1910-1930. The global formalism in poetry explore the cocnept of the visual and symbols and was an adjunct to structuralism and postrtuctralism which was a pervasive cutural theory across art criticism and language learning, and well very much evrything.

ajd said...

Thanks for your sharing work Patrick. Bye.

Patrick said...

You've got me thinking about anglo-centric poetic forms and cultural formalisms. Thank you, ajd.