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Tuesday, August 30, 2022

Ode to unknowing

 It is one thing to


             with a blade of grass

and quite another to be ‘had’

                   by an archetype or

            by several without


and then to look back and try to discern

                  the names of those previously

                               anonymous ‘friends'

     who never announced their

                           names or even their presence

and no imaginative forensic archeology

                                 will ever be sure

                 of their existence or their


as sylphs, nymphs, ghosts and goblin-gods

                 they have danced and plodded

                                     and sung and screamed

      and whispered and crept

                           through the hundreds of


                                       celebrating ancestors

                 competing with peers

without documented biographies or

                                       formal and scientific


Do they have names?

                    Can they be etherized on a wall for


as if they were metaphors in a poem?

                     Can they be robed in alb,

                                               or chasuble

                                                       or uniform

                                                               or squash shorts

                                                                         or bow-tie?

Or are they more likely to be slithering around in the

                                                   shadows inside the psyche

                                    waiting for their discovery

                                                        and their acknowledgement

and their time on stage?

                           Were they ever heard on radio-waves

                                                         or seen on local television?

                   Did they commit to ink and paper?

Did they ever go on dates, or dinners or vacations?

                                   Were they ever comfortable behind a

                                                                    lectern or a microphone?

Or were  they secretly shouldering the ‘imposter’ archetype

                                             as their hidden identity?


                          Who knows who or whom or when or where?....

                     The lyrical  rhythmical  life-force of unknowing…..

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