Posted by: jt | June 10, 2010

a poet reads his crooked rhyme

Out beyond ideas
of wrong-doing and right-doing,
there is a field.

I’ll meet you there.

When the soul lies down
in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.

Ideas, language
– even the phrase “each other” –
do not make any sense.

………

I can always find solace in Rumi.

(Don’t tell my grandma.)

To be fair, I can always find things that put me off too.

But we’re sticking with solace.

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