Bio
I was impressed by Borges's
description of Spain, *a land where there are
few things, but where each seems to exist*
(did he add *therefore?)
*in an eternal way*. I thought,
that's like me
with my lifelong contempt
for "process." - Could explain
at length how limited
contacts and a few rehashed
memories, in an environment
of chronic political frustration, preclude
all but the most tentative
imaginative ellipses, which then become
unreasonably loved; but explanation
is process.
Nor do I value
the thought of merging with nature or already
being part of it, which the more desperate
philistines find consoling. Slugs. Rot.
My hope for myself and for all places
is efficient highways
across sparsely populated,
well-irrigated land; not much corruption
at the top, little advertising;
acceptable fast food;
some snow on smogless mountains at the border.
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