"Precepts?"
Precepts?
What precepts?
Sitting at a kitchen table
How metaphysical
Though the table
Is not my own,
Of course
And these are not my words
Scribbled beside me
But they sounded so fitting
When I read them
So fitting
That I sketched their lines
Assumed their outline
In my cheap cardboard journal
Called them my own
Without earnest
Compelled by the burden
Of false connectivity
Sketching a drawing
With trace paper
And pencil
Number 2
Gratified by a glimpse
Of art
Suffused by a dictionary
I do not own
A sketch didacted
From the wall of a cave
From a semantic
Domain
The inner pages
Of a book
I did not write
That I barely comprehend
Read by chance
Fallen from the shelf
Because of the place
Where I was born
The language
That I was born into
Forced to read
To speak in darkness
Lacking illumination
Still unable
To rub sticks together
On my own
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
Strange.
I walk around without glasses too. Its strange how everything changes. I always take photos of real mundane stuff, because Im endlessly fascinated by the sharpness and detail and calmness of the photos, as opposed to the blur of things in reality
Right now, the Norway thing has freaky weather, which soon will turn into cold, slushy, windy autumn, which will make me want a car more than ever
Heres what it looks like where I grew up:
http://www.reisinderoy.no/bilder/kuer.jpg
Now you!