A Certain Way of Thinking

A Certain Way of Thinking

Like snow. Condensed, fragile, gradual, associated always

with the most profound kind of quietude. These would be ideas

we never actually think. They think us. Fill us.

Plump and flesh our wonder out. Funny world,

that we should have to keep our awe of All in check,

otherwise grow fat and still, out of whack, not viable

for the classic nine to five, the usual scoop, emaciated scope.

You know: The Old Grim Skinny. Money money hum. Mantra

of I want I want I don’t know what. No, if it’s snowing,

we have to love it even while we learn

to block our love of it at will. Belief and feeling too. Bludgeon

them on cue. If we plan, that is, to pay the rent.

God’s an odd one. Creation too. TruthandBeauty too.

Bread of woe.

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