Ephemeral Intimacies   Leave a comment

can it be
there is a place          is it the soul?
to be touched
stirred as if with a spoon
that creates an eddy  that swirls open
the place where sorrow and love
like odd bedfellows
interchange parts yet always fit

a place one must pass through to arrive

“Sad, autumnal counterpoint of unacceptable cowardliness
conforming  once again imbecilic inanity of any rational justification.”

life without suffering equals abomination
so we swirl
lost in the eddy   catch our breath   just in time   many times



Quote is Marcell Duchamp’s wire to a friend whose wife had died.


Posted February 10, 2011 by strongjacksonpoet54 in Poetry of Mary Strong Jackson

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