poetic fragments op. 39

Counting blue cars

“A Christ driving a blue car,”

My friend says.

Insane.

Insane as he is, he can count.

He has been counting blue cars
On a crossover bridge

Before a Lion’s apartment building

For quite a while.

Why blue?

Why cars?

Those are mysterious.

Yet blue cars are certainly running

On Route 6

And he’s insane…

Actually

I’m a Christ.

I went insane, resigned,

And my family broke up.

I have such genes like these.

Genes are the cross.

The cross is the cross

Only while human beings exist.

We make them the cross.

So many Christs today:

Counting blue cars.

poetic fragments op. 38

A road, not me

Robert Frost sang with a sigh,
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

I’ve never been willing to

Take a road unlike him.

I’ve been always taken by a road

Which was not radiant in the least

But was under a bright evil star.

Hence

I have no regret paradoxically.

Taking or not taking a road

never has made me what I am.

From beginning to end,

There was not “me” but “a road.”

The road was
Grassy and in leaves.

It was both summer and winter.

Two roads diverged in a wood.