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The Same Small Perfect Grape

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Tonight I am trying too hard, trying to force the words into submission, as though I have strengthened this writing muscle enough to control them.

I am rather more like a child learning to form letters, white knuckles gripping the unfamiliar pencil, (smooth in comparison to the crayon wrappers), slivers of graphite flaking off as the point quickly becomes nub and permanently engraves the wood table beneath. And finally, SNAP! too much pressure, the instrument breaks and the train of thought takes a break for the pencil sharpener.

A writer friend reminded me that this endeavor is as much discipline as talent, and that some days feel like this. So I leave you today with only a haiku:

on the one ton temple bell
a moon-moth, folded into sleep,
sits still.
-Taniguchi Buson

which is the inspiration for one of my favorite poems, Japan; which is the inspiration for the title of this post. Enjoy, as I resharpen my pencil.


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