dives toward the light again, a kamikaze pilot. What I mean is, I recall the slightly crazed contestants in Takeshi's Castle, running through a maze and aiming for a platform that swings above what looks like a blender full of mud. Meaning, how everything depends on getting to the palace, really a fortress dipped in DayGlo colors— while in the under- brush, other players make garbled noises like a million scraped knees on gravel, or parachuting moth wings. In every quest story, it's not so much what for or what it's worth that the hero goes through crisis after crisis—Individuation is what they call it: how a stronger, wiser self supposedly emerges after each test, dusting off the rubble, straightening her suit of Teflon, all limbs still hopefully intact. At what price, this light that scintillates? How much, if only for the splinter that drives itself so deep, I cannot ever forget it.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.