A Puzzle

Sally was sitting on the back porch, putting together a new puzzle her mother had just bought for her. She liked puzzles very much, even though she put them together rather distractedly. Her mother was hovering nearby, busying herself with watering the plants and cleaning the porch. Sally was nearly done with the puzzle when, as happens, she got distracted. She saw a very strange creature hopping around the backyard, dancing through the rose garden. The creature was so bright that Sally had to squint her eyes just to look at it. She puzzled for a moment then said to herself,

"Oh! I know, I know, that's Love hopping around there, that's what. I know because Love likes to dance, like Jenny and I do sometimes when the radio's on."

Satisfied, she looked back down to what she was doing, but got distracted again and called out,

"Mommy, mommy! Look over there! Do you see?"

Her mother was turned away, tending to a flowerbed adjacent the kitchen. Without turning around, she replied,

"That's lovely, honey."

A Clear and Present Manger: The Role of Religion in American Politics

God's gone slummin' here in America, cruising the aisles of the House of Representatives for a vessel to inspire to act in His name and it's forever changed the complexion of our politics, this we know. But why? Why has God left us for the mean streets of D.C., prostituting His divine will for this bill, that proposition?

The clear answer is that he's only lurking around there 'cause He's not getting what He needs at home. That's usually the case, isn't it? His home, of course, is in the hearts of men, and his foray into the political arena is a symptom of our domestic neglect.

That's right folks, blame yourselves.

This age actually promises to be very fruitful in a way, insofar as it relentlessly saturates us with everything that is without, so as to lead us back within, where everything exists in perfect splendor -

you know, like a kingdom.

Fre-e-mail

Observe your author
quite without his
syntactic armor
addressing his
girlfriend

(who, so far as we can tell, prefers to remain [deer-ly, doe-fully] anonymous)

in a stream
-of-
consciousness
e-mail
(fre-e-mail)
written this, the
evening of 3. Sept 2008:

thanks again for talking to me and encouraging me to take care of myself with a warm shower and a warm cup of tea and a warm book to read. my thanks to you for that. I'm a funny person to get involved with, as you know by now - by the way, this is a fre-e-mail in the most young and virginal tradition as was conceived, not altogether un-immaculately, by yours truly and fondly this afternoon - let me say that I say that flowers are nice when they can show you their smell in a chaste little gesture that's too little for any (cummings alert! shit! i slip into his too---for any--every---un---) routine like moe's hand finds it way, surely, handily, to the back of curly's head. what was I saying? you're a fine girl, in the last analysis. I'd like to you to hum more when you're looking in the refrigerator for something you forgot you needed on your cereal but that it couldn't in any spare sense of splendor do without. i want you to know that i guarantee victory. i guarantee triumph. before God, i guarantee it. it's a promise an apple tree outside our old house made to me when i contemplated the axe resting at its base. it whispered something unintelligible through the leaves, "what?" but i'll never stop forgetting myself under that tree. i get sad often, like old people do. wrinkles are prominent under my skin. i love you and thank you for the love you give me and your beet red heart from which roots stretch out ligaments moving fingers that tend to gardens.