scholia 70 When I wake I let go of everything I know and stake it all on the moment, on the now now passing by. It takes all day to build up the courage to write, to read, to become the genius of each night, and wake each morning morning’s fool.   Possible cacophony In some shaded cloister of my soul now mapped by memory, I once agreed to let real love slip through my fingers so that I could better see, through a crack in the wall, Juliet’s limp body in the arms of Romeo. At which point you…