"Quatorzain alambiqué"

"C'est un esprit des plus confus, alambiqué, ce que nos pères appelaient un diseur de phébus."

Marcel Proust

Bookselling is not so much a career / as a job without much recognition / (unless you don't mind patting your own back), / but it keeps your nose clean and life in gear // though you'll never afford to buy a house. / And if you choose to blame indecision / as the culprit behind your total lack / of direction, (in a world we create // for ourselves, alone in search of a spouse / a mate for life, a husband or a wife) / you won't get any closer to your goals // without accepting your faults as your fate, / your accountability as the knife / that severs the spines of booksellers' souls. //

12.31.13

"Uncertainty"

12.23.13

Beyond the arc of perception,

out of the corners of my eyes,

I see people without disguise,

I see beyond their deceptions.

My insights are not projections,

I see the truth beyond their lies, 

masks drop, for only I am wise,

their ignorance begs inspection.

To witness their uncertainty

when opportunity presents

an open door to fix the past.

To bear this sense of gravity,

this trace of solemnity, tense,

nervous, uneasy, empty, vast.