Alright. Try this: everyone I know is going to die alone even if those who love them stand nearby. Early in the morning when I’m still a young man I think of the wings I’ve been crafting in secret all my life.
**
Now and then someone calls me on the phone and its an accident—wrong number—and before I hang up I always say, you know, you should read Spinoza…
**
Walking with my guide dog in a winter city, ice falling from the high buildings. We’re nearly struck by a chunk of lethal frozen water. Its a close call. So many days, so many near death experiences navigating the ordinary. This is why the ancients painted on the walls of their darkened caves.
**
There’s a Neanderthal ghost and I’ve named him “Nandy”
He turns up rather often and gives me ghostly candy
Its the stuff of starvation, its all you need to know
The candy is simply pebbles you suck on as you go…
**
Everywhere I turn there’s an article about poetry being dead and I don’t get it. I suspect they’ve substituted “poetry” for laughter.
**
There are two streets for guide dogs and their partners—the visible one, the one with the traffic—then there’s the hidden one, seen only by dog and man—the road of moonbeams and faith.
Planet of the Blind 