Corey Mesler |
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The Barbarian Heart “For the haiku poets, the cry of a mosquito is just as important as a general’s hat or a storm.” Robert Bly Basho and I sat in the moonlight. In his lap he held a trout. Basho signaled to me that the trout was about to speak. I discovered that my pen was a stone. The moonlight began to sing. ** Life During Wartime In Louis Malle’s Black Moon the unicorn is fat and dull. The naked children scrabbling after the pig represent something or other. The young girl, wandering the wartorn landscape, is lovely like a rill. Eventually, she finds Family but the fairy tale threatens to engulf her. And the pet rat has a name. We should all live like this in wartime. We should all look to the Archetype for adjustment, for the way out of the dream. We should all understand that the way out is the way further in. *** A Treasure Hid in a Field The lock on the keyboard didn’t work. I spoke to the assembly about the menace of assembly. In the paper I find my name with a letter beside it. It’s a Greek letter. I don’t understand, nor do I have time for such fribble. I write this down with a burnt stick. What stays is the attitude, the constant consonant. Really, I say to my family, don’t come to me for homework anymore. I’m a desiccated husk, a wastrel. As I leave I say one last thing, not expecting it to last. Everyone turns a deaf ear. This is as it should be, here in the gibbet shadow, the last show on Earth. |
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