Monday, December 10, 2007

The Limalchemest

I would like to think that I can take a hint occasionally.  I’ve been writing a lot, for non-blog purposes of one sort and another.  I’ve had loads of hours at work and then I added on union bargaining on top of that.  The construction at my house shows no sign of being completed so we have not yet decorated for the holidays.  I’ll be out of town for a few days this week, and busy as hell the rest of the time, with a nice big vacation toward the end of the year to see the PNW inlaws.  On top of all that, I lost my notepad - TWICE.  The first time hurt, I’d put a lot of notes away in that one; the second time it was just a few pages, but I think there was some good stuff there that I’m unsuccessfully trying to reconstruct.  The upshot is, I need to take a hiatus and get back with some fresh stuff for the new year.  I can’t guarantee myself access to time, patience, ideas or equipment.  I’ll just take the pressure off and predict that posting will be sporadic at best till naught-eight. 

But till then, we can’t let that last rant be the last word, so here’s a little something I stewed up after reading an old newspaper article about how my grandparents used to go out collecting overdue library books in lima ohia, and this one guy who was particularly memorable.  And a happy holiday season to you all!

Zucky and I volunteered to make housecalls
throughout our mall city in rural ohio
wherever the library books had gone missing
we quested to recover lore
from dilatory borrowers
romance laughter legends cookbooks
every shade of hardbound wisdom
we saw all kinds both rich and poor
but one man I remember clearly
christmas was coming and fiscal year closing
overdue volumes demanded accounting
we called on him at home one evening
he answered us in nature’s nudeness
standing in a darkened den
before a roaring fireplace
wherein he tended to a still
refining secrets in the blaze
naked stood he at the hearth
his shadow stretching out toward us
flickering, tied sole to sole
the fire lingered in his eyes
as he disgorged wrongful retention
then turned, returning to his labors
our work done we left him there naked with his sublimations
silhouetted on the flames
late in that decembers’ darkness
philtering in the inferno
until he’d cooked a perfect secret
nobody could repossess