Artist pushing his head in a grocery cart towards his execution, 2022 September 22
Some of you can see this shitty blog, many of you cannot. In an excellent metaphor, I've completely fucked up google, all six of my work related gmails, all three of my personal emails including the one associated with this shitty blog which now says I'm logged into this shitty blog but the shitty blog thinks it's logged in to my primary work email which doesn't think it's logged into blogger and is correct in thinking it shouldn't be. Google community forum is trying to help, I keep deepening the problem with each attempt at each suggestion they make
Small flames afloat in blue duskfall, beneath trees
anonymous and hooded, the solemn trees—by ones
and twos and threes we go down to the water's level edge
with our candles cupped and melted into little pie-tins
to set our newest loss free. Everyone is here.
Everyone is wholly quiet in the river's hush and appropriate dark.
The tenuous fires slip from our palms and seem to settle
in the stilling water, but then float, ever so slowly,
in a loose string like a necklace's pearls spilled,
down the river barely as wide as a dusty road.
No one is singing, and no one leaves—we stand back
beneath the grieving trees on both banks, bowed but watching,
as our tiny boats pass like a long history of moons
reflected, or like notes in an elder's hymn, or like us,
death after death, around the far, awakening bend.
i knew a guy named david baker - he sang with band ‘mercury rev’ - chances are this poem is by a different guy