On the first page of a new journal (a poem)

I started a new journal this afternoon, after having completed both my giant sketchbook and my Campus notebook yesterday. This is the most optimistic of the pieces I wrote today.

This ought not to last—
pages thin, likely to tear

The act of writing
is a demonstration of faith
that something will survive time

It is a fact
that we abandon everything
we make, take, and have

We understand this arrangement
but accumulate anyway—
makes us feel safe

I think we think
we won’t have to go anywhere
if we have enough

Except for the few
who choose to make peace
and start giving things away

But not the journals—
we’re not willing
to leave those behind

(6 August 2018)



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