Sunday, October 6, 2019

The Edge Of Truth

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes I find myself standing on the edge of truth. It's one of the benefits of my job. I don't make much money and the retirement plan is lacking, but there are occasions when I can see all the way inside.

Somewhere in the mix of poetry and science is the stuff that makes it all up. The dervishes dance to it. Rauschenberg found it in the trash all over lower Manhattan. Sometimes I can smell it. In fact, every now and then the very specific aroma will stay with me for days.

Looking for it is like playing with mercury. The best-laid plans won't get it and you surely can't buy it. Sit still and listen to your heart. Wait a lifetime. If you're lucky, you may catch a glimpse of it.

Here are a few hints:

Lester Young, crushed velvet, sunsets on the Gulf of Mexico, new romance, old dogs, cracks in marble, kindness.

Here I sit, blathering on as though I'm some authority. I do know this- It parades in front of all of us. The fortunate ones, the poets, the scientists, are visited from time to time.

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