undefined Poems and Poetry
| Notes on the Human enigma | I. As a Forethought In the middle of the night, a pharmacist finds himself standing in a circle of drummers. “If this is not a true brine,” he asks, “why am I holding a pickle?” As if on cue, the explanation capitulates: even the narrator stares blindly into the future. II. Clearly, discourse is only the unhatched shadow of a wandering eye. |
