Did a podcast looking back on this yesterday. (Link to come.) Hadn’t thought about it much in a long time.
Now to see deep difficulty braved is at any time, for the really addicted artist, to feel almost even as a pang, the beautiful incentive, and to feel it verily in such sort as to wish the danger intensified. The difficulty most worth tackling can only be for him, in these conditions, the greatest the case permits of.
Behold the (modern) man…
My friend, Franklin Bruno. A terrific song and amusing video.
Water rising, bridges swallowed
We entomb Dad in the damp earth
Muddy rain, rectangle in the ground
Funeral home, bluegrass from tinny speakers
Bill Monroe, Footprints in the Snow: “…She’s with the angel band…”
Shaking hands and blurry faces
The Racoon Creek rises, squeezes
squeezes the in-law’s cabin
The path in cannot be the path out
We take the backway home
I knew and did not know the man we buried
Pictures of him around the casket, young and old
Mom brought the pictures
No one takes pictures at a funeral
On a raining September