I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


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Tuesday, September 8, 2020

Beatrice Beatrice

 

from this week in September, 1970  (I was 25)

 

Beatrice Beatrice

I’ve sunk to the depths

I’ve walked barefoot

through caves of hot gold

I’ve been to the markets

where men’s blood is sold

I’ve floated in chains

across seas of repentance

I’ve been there before

when Pilate passed sentence

and wherever your name

has escaped my breath

men have shrunk in terror

saying Silence

her name is death

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