Thursday, October 2, 2008


I love this time of year,
how she marvels at the fall colors,
and then colors her hair.

“Must you always be so . . . gray?”

Yes, I must. The artist who painted me
was melancholy, and used only gray;
go ahead — take my picture.

“My god, you are gray!”

I gave her a leaf. It had turned gray in my hand;
but it was a lovely gray — a gray with veins,
a gray of ten thousand subtle shades,
a gray inside gray still becoming gray,
a deep gray well in which gray voices
echoed the glad gray eternity of our names.

“Not to mention crazy.”

(first publication)

Recently Linked:
Congress Shall Make No Laws Concerning the Banning of Books

“Speaking of sexy and Whitman, in researching banned texts I came across this blog and, I say this without irony, the writer’s picture made me envious of the ability to grow a beard. Never in my whole life, try as hard as I may, will I end up looking so wonderfully, well, composed of books on the molecular level. *sigh* One more disappointment to toss onto the pile.”

As the Conversation continues, Paul’s grandfather says, “You have sadism stamped all over your bloated British kisser.”

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