Sunday, April 04, 2004

White Elephants, and a Bed of Lies

Here is a poem for Tonio...

In Dispraise of Poetry

When the King of Siam disliked a courtier,
he gave him a beautiful white elephant.
The miracle beast deserved such ritual
that to care for him properly meant ruin.
Yet to care for him improperly was worse.
It appears the gift could not be refused.

-- Jack Gilbert


Not my cross to bear. I struggle through an intricate labyrinth of second guesses, exhausted by joy and harassed by hope. Forty-six years old and not yet out of adolescence. There's no point in even beginning to apologize for my existence. My uncanny run of luck goes on.

Terence, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can’t be much amiss, ’tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.

Sometimes it seems to me that I walk in a dense cloud of lies, that I breathe lies, drink lies, and crawl at night into a bed of lies. That I must mutter lies all night long in my sleep. Koshtra, the Minor Functionary of Lies. I can't put my finger on a single one, but I know that I'm surrounded by them.

So -- good night --

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