Three Scraps Crammed with Incomplete Ideas

~ Forest, Night, Traveler, Wind

“These, then, are the names
Of our first mothers
And fathers.”  The job of Saint
George is absurd, murdering

And murdering the dragon
Again and again,
When there was never
Such a thing as a dragon.

I was a dragon,
Or an eel, an olm,
A midnight leviathan.

I slept in a cave,
In a mountain, in the woods.
I’ll never come back again.

~ Every Word’s a Beast of Burden; Every Word’s a Mule

I can give you directions,
But I can’t guarantee you
Will faithfully follow them.

And does it matter?
Matter. Mask of energy,
Primitive dancer
Exchanging light gracefully.

No. It doesn’t matter. You
Don’t matter. I don’t matter.
Nothing matters. Just nothing,

The only damned thing
That doesn’t exist
And, because of that, matters,
Is what matters to matter.

~ Never!

Aristotle seemed to rate
The impossible over
The improbable
As a narrative device.

I was never much
For narration. I wanted
The improbable, that’s all.

I longed for the unlikely,
Doubly unlikely,
The fortunate half only.

Just my luck to get
The impossible instead,
Divinity served to me
On silver platters in bed.