Imagination 8

And on the seventh day, there's idleness and adoration—float like a river, sting like hail. Wu Wei. Tao Te.

Across the river from here, white pines are attracted to the sun each day but point to the moon every night.

And around here, it's cats and dogs all day. But at night, it's owls and coyotes. Everyone ultimately agrees.

There's nothing to do and nowhere to go. Call it karma or surrender, it really doesn't matter.


I'm not responsible for my past; true love secretly did me. The way I see it, my job was to follow the script.

Maybe I should improvise! Thought is just a tool but affectionate awareness is the hand.

Bring them together as one in silence twice a day. If self-awareness is god, imagination is angelic.

Six days on the road. One night at sea. Dependent clauses. This, that, these, and those—demonstrative only.

footnotes to imagination 8

revolution nine is my absolute reference point. 1/9

i remember living by the mills and one day my friend's oldest brother appears from out of the streaming homeward-bound masses on my street, which i am showing off to my suburban cousin, to show off a recently acquired ted williams baseball card. "fucking jesus with a bat!" 2/9

the ferryman returns me to that three-mile strip of consciousness north of the merrimack

between whole and howl, an e is silent 4/9

no damn space, and no damn time 5/9

all the world's a stage and all the men and women my projections 6/9

embodiment is that between the seventh and the next octave calling 7/9

returning wu wei to i am is like the diamond wing of way 8/9

in the name of the further, enlightening intent, not of the dream. #9 #9 #9 #9 9/9