John Maurer

John Maurer

Polarized Ends

My soul is not kindred, it is imaginary Like the vision in the concentric circle of dots It is not solar exclusive, stare at anything too long and you go blind The page turning and sage burning has me unlearning the words I once hoarded—

Like what for? Who for? No amount of beauty or love sustains the flower Abstract concepts do not grow the grass; that is sun and water That is the son and daughter who eat your dreams in front of your face Not I, I spot a spy in my circle and show him the use of a circular saw

Show him how stable a table can be with three legs No horses but the fields get plowed, no need to be proud The process is enough, the work is the reward