in the heat of a winter day

i haven't been in the most happy of moods lately for this and that reason, absolutely not worth going into here- and, you know that i have never been that vocal a person when it gets down to the heart of the matter. as the day unfolded in its strange ways, i found myself at the bookstore again- this, of course, will come as no surprise to anyone. picking up one of the new books (yesterday being tuesday, the day of new releases, much like wednesday is for comic book lovers the day they await with such eagerness), and i quickly found myself being twisted by words.

this was brought about by the newest book of poetry or prose poems by mark strand, who has crossed paths with me before in his poem for his late father (which i read and reread because nobody could truly speak to me at the time of my own father's passing for whatever reason, personal and/or pathetic).  i sat down and read through this new book, laughing at times at the ever so droll twists and turns, but every now and then there were some sentimental and touching zingers that made me regret giving it a read.  after all, one should keep well away from sad things when one is in the throes of moody and heady doom and gloom.

nonetheless, i have never followed and will most likely never follow such sound advice and continued (concluded) reading it. perhaps, this in no small way contributed to the drinking of this evening, but why pretend?  it's not as if i haven't thought of having a drop or two as early as noontime today...

but before i hit the (home) bar, in most part because i was unable to get anyone to play along with me tonight for bacchanalia, i leave you (today) with this piece from his book, and urge you take some time away from your significant (or insignificant, or nonexistent) other, hoping you will too let your eyes and mind wade through the pages of this book (Almost Invisible: Poems by Mark Strand, Knopf)

ablaze/that summer and all summers before