Restless this afternoon, I thought about going to the Goodwill store. Those books haunt my imagination. What if someone has donated the complete poems of William Carlos Williams? What if there is some Raymond Chandler sitting on a shelf? What if (very unlikely) there is a volume of Yvor Winters, or of Kenneth Rexroth's translations? They won't be there long. Someone not me will get them. And what if there is something I never knew I wanted? I will never find out I wanted it! The thought of an undiscovered unknown desire is unbearable. I'll try not to think about it.
There is definitely something I was supposed to do that I've forgotten to do. It doesn't make sense that I would remember forgetting something I haven't yet remembered, but there it is. I can't shake the feeling. Something important is going undone, and I have no idea what it is. I wonder if I'll ever find out?
( Sunday VerseCollapse )