[           ] | Ken Farrell | The Piltdown Review

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[           ]

The custom is to sit

next to another when you enter

a dining hall or theater

alone, to fill each empty seat

as close to another as you can.

It is only a custom.

Sometimes a woman

enters a room,

a man enters a room, takes

a lone, far-off place

and thinks I am keeping my self

to myself. The burden becomes space

stretched between them.

Each person who enters

thereafter must choose:

am I of that kind or this?

whose custom should prevail?

And some of us who enter after

have doubt and seek a space

to claim, or we seek a place

to dispose of all that came before.

Some of us find we are not

of a kind; we self-displace.

We find no room within rooms.  

shortlink: dogb.us/space



More Remarkable Finds


So we go out, our descent reconnaissance for the collective. We perform experiments with swirled words, crescent-moon eyes, and report.
Expedition Notes to the Surface of a Heart

Expedition Notes to the Surface of a Heart

The south-east patch of heart is rough, very calloused, almost scales. She tried to pluck them off. They turned to dips, then pock-mark fields.
The Spirit of the Horse

The Spirit of the Horse

There are deep impressions in the grass, tracks from your truck and muddied sod from the vet who “put him down.”