Sunday, September 22, 2013

The Calico Cat Stretches Her Long Body Out Across the Top of My Computer Monitor, Yawning, Its Little Primitive Head a Cave of Possibility


Dick Allen

Birdsongs that sound like the steady determined tapping
of a shoemaker's hammer,
or of a sculptor making tiny ball-peen dents in a silver plate,
wake me this morning. Is it possible the world itself can be happy? The calico cat
stretches her long body out across the top of my computer monitor,
yawning, its little primitive head a cave of possibility.
And I'm ready again
to try and see accidents, the over and over patterns
of double-slit experiments a billionfold
repeated before me. If I had great patience,
I could try to count the poplar, birch and oak
leaves in their shifting welter outside my bedroom window
or the almost infinitesimal trails of thought that flash and flash
everywhere, as if decaying particles inside a bubble chamber,
windshield raindrops, lake ripples. However,
instead I go to fry some bacon, crack two eggs
into the cast-iron skillet that's even older than this house,
and on the calendar (each month another oriental fan
where the climbing solitary is dwarfed . . . or on dark blue oceans
minuscular fishing boats bob beneath gigantic waves)
X out the days, including those I've forgotten.


  1. God is a Bullet.

    Good video. Far too long since I've played it.

  2. re why canada is so boring - i told the author of that piece what i really thought in his comments section -

    "you really don't have the faintest idea how lucky you canadians are, do you? thanks for writing this piece - it saves me the trouble of reading your other stuff"