nothing false and possible is love
ee cummings
I have no choice—
I must love my words and today all words are my words.
I am my words. And I am not my words.
I am the clapper and the bell—
chime, sustain and distant echo.
I am both greater than and less than my words.
Equation is a beautiful word.
Bell and chime, clapper, echo and sustain
are all beautiful words.
Greater than and less than are not so beautiful—
like anger and joy, like Krishna and coyote,
like love, Yahweh, sun and ennui, imaginary,
barely even words and I must love them all.
Brown rice with sweet and sour tofu is a delicious word,
a real word, a beautiful word.
Sometimes my friends are delicious words
often raw,
sometimes the dancer, sometimes the fall.
I am both greater than and less than the fall than coyote,
Yahweh, ennui, and the sun—
perhaps I am imaginary, a barely word word.
This Variegated Meadowhawk,
this silly dragonfly perched on the brown reed
waiting to be claimed—
dragonfly, you are a beautiful word. You are my word
and today I must love all my words.
I close my eyes and see
my parents walking down the beach.
Seagull, waves and sand are beautiful words.
My parents were beautiful words.
I am my parents and I am not my parents.
I googled my words and not my words.
Google is a beautiful word and I discovered
many poets claim this absurdity.
Sometimes my friends are absurd; brown rice never is.
You may have more brown rice than my parents did
or less
but your brown rice is neither greater than nor less than theirs.
Brown rice is a beautiful word and I am
neither greater than nor less than your brown rice,
than my parents, than Krishna, than this silly dragonfly.
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