A Society of Three Bowls (Part II of V)

II: A Bowl of Sores

“Nondum amabam, et amare amabam, et secretiore indigentia oderam me minus indigentem.”
St. Augustine

Before my first remembering stands a void.
A block of ice this universe wide
was all before, what me (if any) only product of a cold one’s eyes
subjecting who knows what to stasis, what was not a ploy
so as to suit that other. Instead I
sing of what I
know of being,
of beginning.

In the beginning came the first breeze. It slipped
between dead branches. It moved
amid the thirsty grasses. The
scent of moist bark
wafted back upon me, and so it was I knew I’d summoned
up the right life. I unpacked the first bag; I’d embarked
into my life’s beginning.

In our beginning those of us assembled stirred the ice.
We each in our own cavern woke to find we’d hibernated to the time
at hand. We knew – they told us, and we knew – the season had arrived.
“Go” (it came to us) “and find
the right life
for you.”

On whose
authority was it told us crops remain the heart
of civilized society? And what are
crops? these days?
You cannot raise
such crops in stable country.
“Seek the city.”

Before my first remembered memory was
the void,
before my action,
no beginning.

Spring in the city comes to mean buds – hesitant at first
and then assured. Birth in-town means death
to all the flotsam of whatever last life. “Do not rest
your head too long upon your new-earned laurels; thirst
requires of you renewed and yet renewed bets.”

Before my memory is
the void;
before my action,
no beginning
of me. My action, my beginning.
My action is beginning.

In our city they’ve constructed all the right poles. Bide
your liberation while you still can. Give and take can find
and choose for you
the choicest fruits.

would buy
one day a rhododendron and eventually
a puppy.




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