August 2011
ANY worth | Lisa Lightsey
The pod protects its seed, the geode gems, the egg, yolk‒
lying in tusks of grass, safe from hands that pluck to sow
and sell to eat. An egg shhs,
walks on tip-toe, hides white on white and when
abused, hard-soft according to time.
The stone rolls in half, the Siamese earth-twin operated
on, no longer conglomerate but related. The ghost-rice
grain, oblong and strange,
keeps shying from its price.
July 2011
“Conceivable:
up there, in the cosmic network of rails,
like stars,
the red of two mouths.
Audible (before dawn?): a stone
that made the other its target.” —Paul Celan, from “Night,” trans. Michael Hamburger (via proustitute)
up there, in the cosmic network of rails,
like stars,
the red of two mouths.
Audible (before dawn?): a stone
that made the other its target.” —Paul Celan, from “Night,” trans. Michael Hamburger (via proustitute)
“As long as one clings to time, space, number and quantity, that person is on the wrong track and God is strange and far away.”
—Meister Eckhart (via veareflejos)
