...a faint line, a semblance of stability. I secretly admire James Merrill for Ouija board transcripts. The Pyroxenes
Well, life has touched me, too.
No longer infant jade,
Well, life has touched me, too.
No longer infant jade,
What is the soul not made
To drink in, to go through
As it becomes a self!
Admire this forest scene,
Admire this forest scene,
Dendritic, evergreen,
On Leto's back-lit shelf--
"Forest" that long predates
The kingdom of the trees.
Move on a step to these
Move on a step to these
Translucent spinach plates
Morbidly thin, which flake
On flake corundum-red
As weeping eyes embed.
You'd think poorhouse and wake,
Fury, bereavement, grief
Dwelt at Creation's core,
Maternal protoplast,
Millions of years before
Coming to high relief
Millions of years before
Coming to high relief
Among us city folk.
Out of her woods at last
Out of her woods at last
On the Third Day we woke
From cradles deep in mire
At white heat: elements-
To-be of hard, scarred sense,
Strangers to fire.
1 comment:
It is very much like me to dote on meditations of "crystallization" in the late morning. I like to think of exhaustion as a punishment well received from life, having employed countless means of breaking my back and mind, everyday. Of course, I think that. Of course, I might have my head lodged permanently up my ass.
Wondering if it is just the incredibly weak, who go about a tired routine, to return feeling braver than when they had left the house...
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