“Black cat” in the days of my youth
Was an onomatopoeia –
The sound of a stinging hand.
Shattered plastic, the transparent dome
Of a quarter’s purchase,
My substitute for a blast shield.
And so I learned the words that hurt
But only so much
I took tape to insect, lit the fuse,
Tossed grasshopper bomb under a bucket,
And examined the pattern.
Ichor and chitin, sulfur stains and char –
Such meaninglessness revolted me.
Thank god for illiteracy.
Haruspex
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Haruspex
"It is not the literal past that rules us, save, possibly, in a biological sense. It is images of the past. Each new historical era mirrors itself in the picture and active mythology of its past or of a past borrowed from other cultures. It tests its sense of identity, of regress or new achievement against that past.”
-George Steiner
-George Steiner
