a poem for today, 19 October 2012
[a word-sorted sonnet of nine sentences and its image]
Real love cannot be silent in the face of injustice.
You were no different.
The differential maneuvering required here is a sleight of consciousness that activates a new space.
The words are dumb rocks.
The thrust of this chapter, however, is that the church responds as a micro-fascist organization in order to cure its pain and does so by refusing eros and embracing a vapid and lifeless moralism.
The less I needed, the better I felt.
Now, this is weak-minded, and perhaps even vicious.
When the category speaks in the voice of a deviant, the category becomes full of flesh.