By Eric Pankey
Beyond the traceries of the auroras,
The fires of tattered sea foam,
The ghost-terrain of submerged icebergs;
Beyond a cinder dome's black sands,
Beyond peninsula and archipelago,
Archipelago and far-flung islands,
You have made of exile a homeland,
Voyager, and of that chosen depth, a repose.
The eel shimmers and the dogfish darts,
A dance of crisscrosses and trespasses
Through distillate glints and nacreous silts,
And the sun, like fronds of royal palm
Wind-torn, tossed, lashes upon the wake,
But no lamplight mars or bleaches your realm,
A dark of sediment, spawn, slough, and lees,
Runoff, pitch-black, from the rivers of Psalms.
Again a distracted post while watching the World Series -- how did I start caring, when I haven't even lived in Chicago for more than ten years? Partly it's not just that I want Chicago to win but I want Houston to lose. Last World Series I was so happy that the Yankees had fallen, it seemed almost anticlimactic, but I hate the Astros as much as the Braves and more than the Giants! I even missed Veronica Mars and didn't "miss" it.
Had a birthday lunch with
Y'all remember what I said about how I would take people who were loudly and vocally anti-choice off my friends list and good riddance? That goes TEN TIMES for people who want to defend the poor innocent Iranian president for calling for Israel to be wiped off the map.
Wow. Some rants really are necessary. Sorry if that was really incoherent; I read some crap and I was too mad to be articulate. And while I was ranting, the White Sox won the World Series! Whooo! Icon from