Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Danielle Lapidoth The Desire To Be Simple There is, sometimes, the desire to be simple. It is a cool desire, to shrink down and in. To be one thought only, whittled to its pith, contained in something humbler, whiter, than the brain. To contract to one porous bone, stripped of sinew, uncharged with motion: an instrument of spotless silence. Why, then, is death not a comfort? How basic to be nothing, on its slow inward spin. How easy to bear, if I could keep just one bone, one green thought.   The Catalogue for Living A response to Martha Stewart's website of the same name There is a catalogue for living. Occasional traces surface in fading scripts, linger in our animal memory. For example, frankincense, myrrh and gold-- what was needed, what could be had, what traveled well and would not spoil: a kind of minimalist, practical welcome, an abhorrence of waste, a prelude to the broken dawn. Next Poem
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