poem/essay by Brian Glaser



The source of wisdom in you

cannot be exhausted by your limbs


nor by the tongue in your mouth.


If you seek to exhaust it,

loss will resound like laughter,


laughter only you understand.


If you trust yourself, truly,

you may be remembered for many generations—


the source of wisdom in you

is laughter at laughter,


autumn, a young gardener at dusk.






is like honey.


It keeps forever;

it rewards you.


Mind-way accepts anger,


it does not ask it to be

the uroboros,—


we breathe with two lungs,

one mouth,


two nostrils,

one body.






redwoods in memory,


their loneliness

among so many of their kind.


What is your question

for life?


So many choose

to leave the universe

as they found it—


I believe it is their choice,—

to listen.





The experience of giving up—

white shirt,


white flag.


The song of experience

is like a zombie’s cataract.


Lay it to rest,

the sack of this word.


Children will learn on instruments

yet unmade.


The dance of madness

is like a distant wind—


to experience

the intimate freedom of infinite space.





Mirror in mirror:

Spiegel im Spiegel—


to live without teleology,

if you are able—


inner destiny.


It’s different,

they assured me,

the survivors.


Neither better nor worse.


The sky in a coffin,

the ethical sunflower,—


laughter at laughter,

a young gardener at dusk.





On principle—

the sewn seams you loved


in your childhood blanket,

opal, microtextured,


the smallest sensory pleasures

at the soft tips


of your fingers,

ridges and edges—


keep your love of principles

close to you.





Young man,

they wanted you to be the best


so they could come for you


with their imagination

like a syndicate.


It takes others

to make one the best.


What age wants from youth,

a fibrous fire.


Don’t be afraid to be the best—


slender reed,

that bit, ever better.



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