Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Poetry Wednesday


                   I have considered
what it is to know the
boatman, I have
taken measure of things, followed
a light
a tangent
                           I have
slipped with rain from a bench
and stayed there,
        allowed my
gutted middle
to curl in on itself
and a shell to form            (pink as my insides, less and less unlike them)

(the view was changing, hardening. the bow-lip seized,
                and became different)

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:

Summer Song
by William Carlos Williams

Wanderer moon
smiling a
faintly ironical smile
at this
brilliant, dew-moistened
summer morning,—
a detached
sleepily indifferent
smile, a
wanderer's smile,—
if I should
buy a shirt
your color and
put on a necktie
where would they carry me?

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