POETRY CAN MAKE THE BLIND SEE, WHICH IS TO SAY, FLY

(This post is for Greg Perry who notes, "maybe the world is what we make of it. Maybe creation is mechanical if we assemble it in such a manner.")

***

Moi am back and have won Moi bet -- looks like the next issue of Galatea Resurrects will have a record number of new reviews, surpassing the impressive 48 new reviews posted in the current issue.

Play poker with the Chatelaine and I'll strip you blind and take all your money....then buy you a new wardrobe to my liking and recast you, Reader Dear, as

THE EMPEROR WITH NEW CLOTHES

Because what the Fallen Angels taught is, after you take the person down -- deep down -- you take the person up -- high up.

Ascension Poetics = the engagement with a poem.

Kapisch?

Oh don't mind me. I'm back! And I'm blathering!

How was Mexico? several of you ask?

Well, I went for my back which is knotted tighter than a boulder due to those nascent wings hunkered down on Moi shoulder blades. And during one of my sessions there, Olinka was assigned to be my masseuse. Here's what happened at our first meeting.

Two seconds after Olinka touched my back, she said, "Ms Tabios, I think you should try meditation."

Moi: Ugh.

Olinka: Why Ugh?

Moi: Look, I've tried. But I just want to say -- Can I just say that meditation is boring.

For some reason, that cracked her up. Moi followed up: But why did you suggest meditation?

Olinka: Oh, because your body has so much tension. What are you? A cop?

Moi: No.

Pause.

Moi: I'm a poet.

For some reason, that cracked her up even more. Geez -- she must have cackled for a good five minutes which, mind you, I begrudged coz that was cutting in on my back's time. Then the kicker -- as her laughter slowed, Olinka gasped out: So. What do you write poems about? Cops?

Yeah, I know. At that point, I was wondering about Olinka, too....specifically what her thingie was with cops. So:

Moi: What do you do when you're not doing massage?

Olinka: I'm a painter.

Moi (perking up and proclaiming with robust enthusiasm): Oh!!! I'm so jealous! I've always thought that I'm a poet because I don't have the talent to be a painter!!

Olinka (in an aw shucks mode now): Naaaah. Anyone can be a painter. All you need is canvas.

Moi: C'mon. I can't draw or paint ....

Olinka: Not a problem -- that's when you call it "abstract."

Pause:

Olinka: So you don't write poems about cops?

Moi: Nope.

Olinka: What kind of poetry do you write?

Moi: Abstract poetry.

Yep. Olinka laughed again. And laughed. And laughed.

While Moi was thinking as she went down -- deeeeeep down: Whatever. I see you, Wings. Poetry -- bring it all on.