Post Card to Africa

Dear Brother,

Today my child threw away an apple
An apple your child would have held
Like a jewel, golden in his hands.
Holding it up like a shrine
Saying “look at my beautiful apple
So sweet, so precious."

But this was an apple no-one cared for
It lay among the shreds and ashes
With a small piece torn away
And on its side a bruise had flowered.



I care for nothingness
of floating backward
in a pool of thought
to be alive
and to revel in it

The thrilling of sences
dreamings and feelings
streatching fingers, toes
I celebrate
the smile of the soul

I care for nothingness
enjoy the exquisit
soft music of life
rhythem that is
sheer pleasure of being



I don't recall any other sounds
A desert of silence
Among the heartbeats
Expelled air choked-or held

Clouds creep across the sky
Pursing lips unvoiced
Leaves screwing up faces
The insolence of ordinary keys
A sprawling paper clip
The pallid clock-that picks at life

Is this what silence is then?
Something we speak of
Two whole minutes of it
Birds do not respect its emptiness
Distant cables-hum the rhythm of life
Nothing will stop them
Who will silence the dog or sheep?
I do not ask their observance
Or question their irreverence

I take each curtain by its throat
Squeezing the life from each
Tear off the tears-distasteful
As the pointlessness of beauty
And wait patiently only for him
Him who will silence us all


Sludge Bog Stew