a poem for today, 3 July 2012
[a letter sorted sonnet of seven sentences and its image]
I cannot count the good people I know who to my mind would be even better if they bent their spirits to the study of their own hungers.
Often, the absence of a salient event can tell you more about the causes of a problem than a hundred events.
The bald man in the cowboy suit next to me leans in and says something about the game.
What people in the world think of you is really none of your business.
Any floating object displaces it own weight of fluid.
Your job is to endure, and you cannot walk away.
Each step may take from a day to a week.
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