Ode to Answers

 

Ode to Answers

 

Clearly

one expects to discover a ‘thing’

…

-What have you learned

and if so tell it to me.

 

-Okay.

MANY THINGS EXIST.

Mountains; marijuana, music, Nietzsche; Camus. Dead languages. Portland, OR (“where young people go to retire!”), Missoula, MT. Nomadism. Hermitude. Agriculture. DFW, infinite jest, LSD, postmodernism, astronaucy.

 

We must go to a place with high places.

 

Outside the grocery store, under the awning, as it starts to pour: water falls from the sky onto the people, here. It does. This happens often, and they don't think much of it. Miracles like that! That it’s not enough just to say ‘I am incredibly unhappy.’ There will be a time and a space for recounting everything in exquisite, painstaking detail, and once or twice while quietly tangled,

your stories

will

match up. Miracles like that.

 

--recall there was a list. And when there is a list you must be able to repeat it in your head while walking in the sun on certain harsher days; or in bed hurting, or on a plane, or else what’s the point of a list. Now the shade is shrinking back

with the strange force of a memory returning,

 

Stop. The source of your dissatisfaction is:

a)     contemplation

b)    conversation

c)     false idolatry

d)    the music’s too good at what it does to you, what it makes you want

e)     also dehydration; indecision; lack of exercise; lack of sun; excessive starches

 

Come back only to the times that were: sharp, frantic, peaceful; meltingly brilliant. Vulnerable organic matter, small and strange and full of liquid, with hollow hands. Sun like cream and sugar on your neck. Perfect the sound.

 

- Many things go on and on and always; but not you.

-Here is where you are able to accept things: stand in the graying light of a late fall landscape, wet cold country road, and under the ambient cover of crunch of leaves and breeze, you whisper what you know. Louder now. All is well. Find the color; find the sound. The wind stops itself completely. You listen; choose. A car comes. And you put your headphones back in and run away on searing legs.

-Repeat.  

Reviews

[. serah .]

-- wow... i don't quite know where to begin... so let me just begin at the beginning... -- welcome to the writer's cafe, ann collins... -- thanks for pushing the envelope when it comes to the composition and rendition of prose poetry... -- my list includes 18 poets on the this site... some music... some cinema... some authors and poets who are not on this site... some things peculiar to the geographical location i reside in... and i "run away on searing legs" when i make yet another attempt to write...

-- this is excellent work... and i am happy to chance upon it... and delve deep into the rich advice offered by the poet...

[Coyote Poetry]

A interesting poem and thoughts. Took the reader to many places and thoughts. You left the reader with things to ponder and figure out. Thank you Ann for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[Matching Socks]

Really enjoyed this, a very unique style you have.