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I'm drawing a blank. Maybe all the words from television flowing into my ears coax my own words out, and being without television I have nothing to say. The birds chattering in my back yard this evening make more sense than my thoughts do.
The black cat lying like a sphinx, but untroubled by a human head, has no need of words. He listens to the birds and waits for an opportunity to change the song of one into a satisfying meal. Meaning for him is what goes into his stomach.
As for me, my stomach goes queasy when I have nothing to say. It might mean I have nothing to mean. It might mean that this fading day with its dry air and desultory breeze has been wasted, and it would be a shame that it was so much like every other day these days. And it's a shame that I have no television to turn on and through it escape my own empty silence.
( Sunday Verse )
The black cat lying like a sphinx, but untroubled by a human head, has no need of words. He listens to the birds and waits for an opportunity to change the song of one into a satisfying meal. Meaning for him is what goes into his stomach.
As for me, my stomach goes queasy when I have nothing to say. It might mean I have nothing to mean. It might mean that this fading day with its dry air and desultory breeze has been wasted, and it would be a shame that it was so much like every other day these days. And it's a shame that I have no television to turn on and through it escape my own empty silence.
( Sunday Verse )
