Monday, November 3, 2014

Halvard Johnson

In Memoriam David Markson

No one is living in the Louvre.
One never does solve what it is about watching fires.
I bring this up just in passing.
The name of the river at Hisarlik is Scamander.
Shostakovich. Or Lucia di Lammermoor.
While I was peeing, I thought about Lawrence of Arabia.
Utrillo's father may have been Renoir.
Music is not my trade.

[being several sentences from his Wittgenstein's 
Mistress, slightly altered or not at all]


Midnight Mass

Not enough evidence to draw
any conclusions. At the end of the sermon
we all sang a hymn. Arguments
tested our faith. Passions and intellects

stood test of time. We narrowed
our focus. Incurably rational,
terribly sorry, furious as all get out.
Church, mosque, or synagogue.
Something else going on.
No obvious reason.

© Halvard Johnson


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