(after Kristincanwrite’s entry)
One must have I exist.
It’s sweet …
chaos in oneself
to give birth
you’d think it floated
to a dancing star
all by itself.
—Tim Tiernan, 5/31/2010, 10:30 a.m., taken from a Nietzsche quote i know and Sartre’s Nausea, Alexander trans., paperback, p. 98.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
(Taken in 1990 by NASA’s Voyager 1 spacecraft, the “pale blue dot” photo shows what our planet looks like from 4 billion miles away. Earth is the tiny speck of light indicated by the arrow and enlarged in the upper left-hand corner. The pale streak over Earth is an artifact of sunlight scattering in the camera’s optics: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=123614938)
There is our planet bathed
In a sunbeam, three pixels large,
O generation of the thoroughly smug
and the thoroughly uncomfortable,
I have seen fishermen picnicking in the sun,
Nearly two-dimensional, her matted leftover
is unfeline, contorted like a three-toed sloth.
She hangs on to loose gravel.
And all I do to mourn is swerve
The electrochemical couriers of the night’s tunnel delay.
Traffic tightens, mountains shift in, shipments of
sensation are lost.
(poem forthcoming in Blue Collar Review, 2010 summer issue)
Sometimes I’m the goalie on a silent team
whose opponents dash pucks of fragments
as easily as their skates cut flecks of ice.
I’m the guy you never see
who paints the lines on roads—
the hushed grammar of the highway,
the unwitnessed necessity.
I’m the textual janitor
mopping the sloppy sentence structures.
Sometimes I’m a feng shui expert
suggested a shift of column to help the flow of qi.
I fluff pillows, or I rip the sink apart.
All you have to do is show up,
use the facility, enjoy the meal.
I’m the butler’s presence—more absent than absence.
—Timothy Tiernan, 09/03/09