a poem for today, 21 April 2012
[a word-sorted sonnet of five sentences and its image]
The human face is really like one of those Oriental gods: a whole group of faces juxtaposed on different planes; it is impossible to see them all simultaneously.
Just get it.
Every time she makes 'sense' of something, she has to 'cross over,' kicking a hole out of the old boundaries of the self and slipping under or over, dragging the old skin along, stumbling over it.
There it is.
This apositionality of the knower warrants that any mind, through proper discipline and training, can more effectively grasp objective truth.
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