Posted by
Malchickiwick on Tuesday, February 13, 2007 8:03:06 PM
DECONSTRUCTING CHOCOLATE:
A Student’s Farewell
“I got your Other
right here,”
I told Jacques Derrida,
The night he died,
Pushing aside his book
Which flapped like a wounded pigeon
to the ground.
“Why should the academy keep the keys?
You old Frog;
You fool.
Revolution is everything
But it isn’t a word,
Or a sign,
Like Tree or Grass or Post.
That needs
Only freeing.”
Later,
Much later indeed,
A chunk of chocolate melting in my mouth,
In my hands:
I pondered Milk
Incas
The African Slave Trade,
And realized the old, dead Frog had hit on something.
His book hadn’t moved,
So I picked it up,
Cream-sweetness on my tongue,
And buried it
Beneath my favorite tree,
A half-dead Poplar, by the way,
Which doesn’t have a word
For Anything.