Monday, June 19, 2017

Enjoy This Poem from Fractalverse: Volume Three!

From Fractalverse: Volume Three


What a soul is:
death and language.
An appeal to grass.
Muddy fingers.
Sweeping the floor.
Homemade pizza.
Watching finches.
Admit nothing, and you’ll see nothing.
Admit the possibility, and your mind inhales freshly.
It isn’t so scary as you might think.
Whatever you do, ignore the critics and cynics and doubters.
Often they are one and the same person.
I’m not your teacher. I fucking hate teaching.
There is nothing more full of betrayal
than trying to teach someone something.
I’ve experienced it for myself.
Students don’t learn a damn thing.
The ones who do are desperately rare.
It’s one of a zillion reasons why this world is so fucked up.
Death and language.
An appeal to grass.
Walking on hot asphalt with bare feet.
Summertime shade.
Gray sunlight in winter.
A nap, clovers, watering plants, hard work,
no work, healing, hoping, hell-raising.
Still don’t get it? Don’t worry.
Everybody’ll tell you it isn’t important.
Listen to them.
You’re a student, after all.


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