It poured rain this morning, and most of the day the sky was wall-to-wall grey, but the clouds are starting to break up. And I’m not really complaining. I just checked on my garden, and it’s happy. There are tender shoots popping up everywhere. Primroses, irises, lilies, columbine, bleeding hearts, and all sorts of other stuff.
One of these days, I’m going to remember to buy staples. I have a nearly full box of them, but they are horrible. The glue holding them together is brittle, so the staples break apart and jam my stapler.
The poem is done, but the artwork is not. That’s on the schedule for tomorrow. Survivor and Lost are on tonight, so I’m going to be gorging on television starting in about five minutes.
How many would have recognized
the world in which they lived?
Their ideas molded by institutions
and the imperial cult
the groundless assertion
of their unique devotion
the progress of the gods
kingdoms and empires acquired and expanded
wars and victories without piety.
The pact
formed by criminals and murderers,
they were sacrilegious masters.
They sided with tradition —
illegal baptism
enslavement to the martyrs
agony endured and born a new —
an order
founded upon divine claims,
and some dared insist
divine right.
red paper boat 