and who is exclaiming to me "loss of control, no rational data."
shepherd enters into her journal, "I will not fall apart."
rational voice whispering, "shepherding is an absurd occupation;
no money, no prestige." I shout back, "you are right," but there
are VISIONS and REVISIONS. one word burned into a hillside.
FIERCELY AFRAID OF ERRANDS
repeat the same word for as long as I like. repeat green hills.
repeat dry yellows,
who is accusing me of imitation?
I play a tin whistle. the sound is eerie, but it takes me.
there is a train of words, but it has the body of an animal.
a shepherd learns to listen to the landscape--
THE HILLS ARE SILENCE AND EVERY WORD COUNTS.
citywalls become unnatural.
"there are no shepherds," my mother yells, "in times square."
how does she know?shepherds have no carpeting and for this my
mother pities them.
GOD TAKES PARTS OF YOU AND SENDS THEM AWAY
yeah, there are movies in the city, but you never lose track
the shepherd left. she said, "the room hurts me."
as a shepherd I stopped waiting. it would be waiting
for the same moment only the weather is different.
a questionnaire sent to shepherds--why did you choose this occupation?
heather hillsi'm folded inside them
my mother says, "well at least you don't have to cook him dinner
and he can't demand it in bed. I get it anywayrhythmic prose
multiple rhythm foldingsrouse and stirlyric cadence
into deep.ambition of water without a name, but CATHEDRALS.
they made me go to a psychiatrist--I've wanted to be a shepherd
as long as I remember. once you are gone nobody can rescue you.
HILLS WITHOUT HOUSES ARE BAD HILLS.
temperament.ashamed of myself. labeled.seven a.m.
slipping into FERVENT SPIRIT
a broken field and running