4:59 AM PST - Jan. 26, 2004
this reminds me of jack grapes.
in one of his writing classes, i think it was
"To Be Read and Sung," he actually asked us to write
a piece with this form. it was interesting in
the twists you could give at the end. note
versions (i) and (ii) below.
not for life,
not for love,
not for guilt,
not for ache,
not for the yellow of the daisy's heart,
not for the twist of the green vine
around the cracks of my orange bookshelf,
not for praise,
not for sleep,
not for a cup of warm coffee,
not in the lifetime of a mayfly or a tortoise,
not for all the words in the dictionary,
not for a flush of a toilet,
not for the grind and bump and glitter,
not for a disco ball,
not for a mango ripe or green,
not for the sunrise on the east coast
with it's rose and peach and grape,
not for the sunset on the west coast
with it's going away and slow goodbye,
not for all these things,
not for my grandfather who died
two months before i was born,
not for my own death or
for a tombstone that would outlast Mount Everest,
not for all this, no,
not ever, not for e.e. cummings
or neruda or hass or song,
i.
oh no, i would not trade this moment
as he sleeps on my arm
and i can hear the wheezing in his lungs
and how much i want to give him some medicine
to help with his breathing but i won't --
my arm can grow numb and grow cold
and my fingers can wither
but i will not wake him
for now.
ii.
no, save your apology
for the test tube
that sits above the bunsen burner
and maybe if you hold your fingers
over the blue flame
i will listen.
i need to call jack today.
i need a writing fix.
