Sunday Squibs

 

When I publish a poem it belongs to the reader 

Who may move its chairs, its walls, or its stanchions

I have no control if he tears the thing down

And builds in its place a row of McMansions

When quality control is down, the name brands resell that day’s run to the store brands. 

An expert can tell what era a piece of clothing is from just by looking at a pocket: Colonial, Ante Bellum, Flip-phonian…

Those books of instruction for "Dummies" and "Complete Idiots" are alluring. 

But becoming even the dumbest of rocket scientists or an idiot brain surgeon still takes real work. 

The Pulitzer Prize: $15,000

The Nobel Prize: $1,000,000

The love of one’s friends: priceless 

Sloth is often the best editor.

It's good Kafka died young before the Reich got him.

He would have understood the holocaust though and gone to the gas chamber saying, I knew it.

My belief in God has a tiny crack where doubt

Also called free will flows in and out

I’m trying to make personal Jung’s insight into the Shadow Self.

Step 1. When someone yells at me, I tell myself they’re really mad at some unacknowledged fault in themselves. 

Step 2. Check that I'm not also stepping on their toes.

We each have our own dumpster or bin

The hoarder is proud his has nothing within

The passions of the old burn down to a bed of white coals. 

Toss on some twigs and the grouch will flare up as of old