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And Words Are All I Have
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Avoidance elevated to an art form...
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If I am sleeping too much, baking too much, or marathoning the Rockford Files, it invariably means:
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- I am avoiding writing with everything I can muster.
- I am avoiding writing something that is too painful, difficult, or just out of reach.
- A combo of the above.
This is a poem that came out of that awareness.
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The deeper I bury what I need to say
the loftier my cakes become.
The icing atop them getting sweeter, thicker,
the longer I wait to excavate.
When my freezer is filled with
homemade cookies
my words in turn remain unrecorded,
a direct correlation traceable
in a thick dusting of powdered sugar.
My rhubarb cobbler oozes yet more succulent fruit
with every feeling that goes unheeded.
And those legendary toffee bars overflowing with caramel?
No end to the secrets
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News at 11 Warren Beatty will now be remembered as the old guy who screwed up at the Oscars. Forget his landmark films, his dangerous Clyde Barrow looks. That scene in Reds where he and Keaton reunite at the train station, The one that left you breathless: I saw it in a commercial the other day for Citibank. All of …
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No More Rust Now that scientists in Beijing have discovered how to slow down aging in monkeys, will we learn how to stop all of nature next? Think. No more showers of autumn leaves. Gone, the soulful, wrinkled hands, Happy Retirement cards. Bid goodbye to old faithful dogs, plastic surgeons, Lens Crafter stores, Gone, too, those gloriously aged porpoises, wizened …
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