Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Camp Sight

Camp Sight

There’s this life, streets and parked cars,
and only rarely can you see the other

kind of living, before it dissolves back
into the ordinary. From between the curb

and car, an idea flinging itself up
your flagpole. We should get away,

should go, find a meadow, take to
canoes, build fires. Leave, you are told,

go see the stars unobscured, temporarily.
Nothing between you and the sky

out there except for time, so much of it
you couldn’t live it all with thirty of you.


  1. leaving the streets and going out into the meadow always seems to me like waking from a nightmare ...

  2. I'll take the meadow any day. ;)

  3. I love "an idea flinging itself up / your flagpole," though I'd prefer "flings" instead of flinging. In either case, what a fine way to talk about the way ideas appear.

    I love the last couplet too--its idea, which puts us in our place once again. If we had world enough and time . . . well, maybe that's a load. Maybe we'd do the same damn thing we're doing already and not at ounce more.


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