Ghost Buffalo

A culture is the ensemble of stories that we tell ourselves about ourselves.     - Clifford Gearts  De Activation I have decided to ration  my daily penchant          for distraction.        (So much  depends       upon         the whole shebang and  the fraction) .   Meanwhile, Even as we grow old in the spring,  the  ode  begins,  it tallies forth -- it bursts  through -- though I should say  sometimes  I  misconstrue.   Is that  abnormal  asks   the  songing toad   and the soggy moon .   Dunno   replies the desert bloom ,    I'm brand new too.    

In My Craft Or Sullen Art In my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie abed With all their griefs in their arms, I labour by singing light Not for ambition or bread Or the strut and trade of charms On the ivory stages But for the common wages Of their most secret heart. Not for the proud man apart From the raging moon I write On these spindrift pages Nor for the towering dead With their nightingales and psalms But for the lovers, their arms Round the griefs of the ages, Who pay no praise or wages Nor heed my craft or art.