MAXIMS
JOURNEY OF THE MAGUS
So that, coming back,
he could find his
way, he laid down
markers. Pistachios
from his pocket. The
Greek alphabet. Words
chosen at random.
Such variety. Slept
when he got to where
he was going. Came
back in sunlight, found
food on the journey.
Thought about his
place in the scheme
of things as he walked
his way from omega
down to alpha. The
words were redundant—
though sometimes he
picked them up, made
poems out of them.
THE COOLING POND
When power plants throw
away the same amount of
waste heat as the energy
they generate, a search for a
fixed point is pure instru-
mental indulgence. So many
targets; no way to tell
when the process will end
if one begins considering
spiritual questions seriously.
On the cooling pond black
swans glide by. A harpist
plays Pachelbel's Canon
in D Minor. A man & a
woman share a telephone
line. They despise each other.
A LINE FROM HANNAH WEINER
I brought my dog on a cool
day. 1060 people were here
in the sweeping lobby of
the hotel. It took my breath
away. Most of these slaves
were once held in New York:
a new trafficking reality is
challenging; the geographical
scope of activity has been
expanded to explore new
markets. Incoherent realities
out of a nation that thinks
itself civilized. Weiner's
phrase no longer a Legerian
depiction of the geometry of
an excursion to the beach. Now
become a symbol for sex worker
solidarity. Begun with a march
at the Venice Biennale. Carried
on under the red umbrella.