… or we may send over the earth a wave

of electricity traveling at any rate we desire,

from the pace of a turtle up to lightning speed.


If I could

I wood. Yeah

I’m a blockhead

cutting cherry for firewood.

This log a table.

That a bookcase.

Or a wall carved

with poems that could

last like stone. Maybe.

But no thing lasts long.

The pink grain and glow

of each cut

has its own beauty

fleeting as the words

winged inland from the fierce

and constant ocean breeze.

Ten of Spades - Robinson Jeffers
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