By Toklas 
Date: 16 November 1999

Paper Boats

It was a fine night to launch the fleet. 
The kind that writers would froth over 
under an unsuspecting moon. Sitting on the
riverbank, scrunched against a lot of cold 
rocks, I did not feel like an atmospheric ‘connect’ 
to a nature that was not talking back. I was intent
on the search for the big experience—the one
that would start my life over 
like a Hallmark greeting card. I had never
been too big on ritual.  After all,
how much cure can there be in getting doused,
cut or chanted over in front of an audience bent
on sugar-pop sentiment? 

But I will try anything once.   
Besides, after futile months of trying 
to write my opus on the art of letting go,
I was ready for the bizarre or mundane.  

It was a coin toss really.  

After brief reflection, it seemed prudent
to throw in a dash of honest superstition.
So here I am.  Sitting here with my cold butt,
your letters and soggy matches.  

Proceeding with this ceremony, I folded up
your letters into a lovely assemblage 
and pushed them one by one into the current.
The matches hissed each time I fired the aging paper.  

They are all out there now.  
Seven paper boats burning the sting out of your words.
Slowly they drown, the river swallowing
the ashes in torturous bits.

Seven times should be enough for anyone.