One thing I’ve learned in the last few months is that the mind, left to its own devices, can wander and dwell on bizarre things.
Haiku 10: Syphilis
(by Kristi Garboushian)
Keats’ “La Belle Dame sans Merci,”
blown-glass femme fatale.
creation: le maquillage,
(brilliant cast of “The Great Pox”),
poets, writers, kings.
Voltaire’s Candide smirked.
Syphilis an affliction?
Tout est pour le mieux.
I’m still obsessed with the syllable, infatuated with the value of these units that make words. It’s strangely soothing.