A Gateway Across The Pacific
While I am writing a letter to my friend living over the Pacific,
Belle, my cat, is chasing a moth.
I enter in to find the sun on the horizon
Yet he talks from where the sun rises.
R. H. Peat
But the sun neither rises nor sets
It exists in a vortex where everything fuses into a seamless whole
Flutter of fire in a cranial sky
A glimmer on the river of darkened candles.
So I couldn't eat turtle soup any more.
I got out the restaurant, 'Ivory Coast'.
Sometimes this letter is difficult, sometimes it seems we have no common ground, or sky,
but we do have oceans and words and oceans of words.
There were rolls and rolls of film
all undeveloped, light-struck.
a certain pleasurable perplexity drew
his lips dancingly across his face
breath circles in October air
yellow leaves spin and drift
Everyone feared the coming of the darkness, the coming of the age,
silence gropping for sunlight
Death Likes His Coffee Black
Death sipped silently as he studied his next victim.
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