Holmes homey
Yup Metaphysical
Club – pg61
In
the dedication to the task at hand, human beings make, by their deeds, tracks
in the wilderness. The wilderness itself is trackless.
Louis Menand
Holmes on the other hand
a sonnet in memory of his ardent friend Henry
Abbot killed 6May 1864
He steered unquestioning nor turning
back
Into the darkness and unknown sea;
He vanished in the starless night, and we
Saw but the shining of his luminous wake.
Thou sawest light, but ah, our sky seemed black,
All too hard the inscrutable decree,
Yet, noble heart, full soon we follow thee
Lit by the deeds that flamed along thy track.
the wilderness maybe trackless
his
arms werent ambidextrous
didnt hide them under sleeves
wouldnt
anymore
than he hid his scars plenty
anymore than someone would hide their tattoos
there for some purpose
ask him
he asked people
about their tattoos
some coherent thematic
others mishmash random
those
seemed to speak outwardly of what occurred inwardly
stigmata
his tracks
accesses
entryways portals he
chuckled
doors of perception
2236, Monday,
10 3. 25
1432, day-between-2-Ts, 12 3.
25
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