Bait Pass

The weather has me on edge. Tropical Storm Arlene has saturated us and the power can't decide what it wants to do. When I finally did get back online today, I found some garbage dangled right in front of my nose that shifted me from moody to pissed in ten seconds. Happily I recognized it for what it was -- trash bait -- and swam on by.

I'm not really growing up. I needed inspiration for the victims my psycho killer is going to murder slowly more than I needed to rant.

The lights are dimming again, so I have to post Monday's Ten list fast. I'll leave you with a poem that I've been pondering lately:

Somewhere someone is traveling furiously toward you,
At incredible speed, traveling day and night,
Through blizzards and desert heat, across torrents, through
narrow passes.
But will he know where to find you,
Recognize you when he sees you,
Give you the thing he has for you?
Hardly anything grows here,
Yet the granaries are bursting with meal,
The sacks of meal piled to the rafters.
The streams run with sweetness, fattening fish;
Birds darken the sky. Is it enough
That the dish of milk is set out at night,
That we think of him sometimes,
Sometimes and always, with mixed feelings?

--John Ashbery, At North Farm