05.05.2004

I had priorities, every day I had my work waiting, my before before
In no time a line of words queued up, but the clerk had gone on break

The sound of an image in the eye's rivery continuum
The glass world, misunderstood, made from the box of words

Seasonal things bloom and blow indoors to rival sun and storm
I taste the words, then pick and choose what might work

A bottle of orange dish liquid stole the morning kitchen window light
"Isn't that the artist's best joy, to control light?"—Dorothea Tanning

Summer light arrives, we use it after dinner, control it with a garden
Two gods pandemic: order, the sweet, the worker; chaos, the greater