"The cat has too much spirit to have no heart." - Ernest Menaul

Container

Culture has bestowed to us this container—
in it we place our values, our things of merit; treasures to profit from.
Outside the container are things erroneous, pretentious; offensive. But,
though all have been instructed that outside the container
be there this misguided station, oftentimes one discovers the container to be prosaic,
and develops enthusiasm for what lies on the exterior.

There will be much anguish within those who,
straying outside the container, find splendor. How problematic
it will be to not know how to disclose this new-found perception
to those inside. For within the container,
we have evolved. Such “splendor” is dispensable,
now it has become prosaic to us; so much so that it is unseemly; distasteful.
We do not want to be conscious of it.

But, might one propose that we cast such notions aside?
The gorgeousness of what lives outside our container
is supreme! It is sublime! It is articulate! So be it,
if it is painful, if it is improper, if it is ugly—
the veracity of it is impossibly daring! and I do not wish
to live a cowardly existence.

October

In the earliest days of the autumnal season,

humble gusts of wind are stirring the foliage,

transforming the singular perfume of our summer delight

into a polyphonic pleasure.

What verve of October

captivates us so? implores one to

crave this ephemeral equinox

yet to live in it’s jubilancy for always?

But, behold! O, what bliss!

I implore you, great specter,

let this magnificent harmony

never elude me.