Saturday, September 13, 2008

Writing about things I know nothing about

I'd like to write more of this, but (a) I would have to refresh my memory of Wallace's work and (b) I'm really, I confess, rushing to get something, anything in before midnight.

INFINITE JEST
David Foster Wallace, 1962-2008

Like Treadwell
striding off
into the
Grizzly Maze,

like some half-
assed high
school actor
forgetting
his next line,

he loses
his place.


Some skull yanked
from a hole,
with the dirt
shaken off.

Some joke,
the kind that
lasts beyond
the grave

2 comments:

Maria Padhila said...

It's all a lot better than you think.

Pam said...

What a spectacularly ambiguous statement, opening its arms around the whole damn world.

Thanks very much.