Wednesday, August 04, 2004


The parallax of Orestes, and how to keep the two worlds
That bitter flintstrewn valley, authentic, unbearable,
And, comfort, that speck on the map of which he is Potentate,
Surrounded by riches, sandalwood and sardonyx,
Magnificence unprepared, unearned, before the end of the road.
Two that refuse to coincide,
Two that will never find a resonance,
Their moorings struck, a mishmash of umbra, penumbra and
     their doubled confusions.