the minimalist's sanctuary                                              

It occurred to me this morning while listening

to Morton Feldman's "Rothko Chapel"

that the opportunity had again been offered me to embrace

the slightest measure of information and do something with it

(for the benefit of mankind, for fulfillment to come

to the vacant side of the nation, for the sake of the early kid

shanghaied by Priest into the bowels of the lightless sacristy,

to the benefit of those who consider the space between objects

as integral parts of the whole,––  for blondies Dick and Jane

to abandon their creators, and run toward a higher calling,––

for the saints of the needle trade, my young mother among them

to be honored for their service) and, well–– in other words,

this morning, Morton Feldman has come to enlighten me, as I

maintain a residence in the realm of my own spacial interests.