An Appreciation for those who spoke before
Always in the waning hours I find myself drawn to my first and only true love, words. I am constantly drawn toward the ever waxing possibility of something as simple as a clutch of syllables.
One farthing to they that can place this passage.
"Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade"
Don't just go and google it. I'll know if you did! Then you'll have nothing but the author's curse upon you. Can you live with that?
It moves me toward a beautiful peice written by a woman who was born on my birthday but who died before I got there. October 27th is promising and calm.
Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.
God's lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees!--The furrow
Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,
Nigger-eye
Berries cast dark
Hooks----
Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Shadows.
Something else
Hauls me through air----
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.
White
Godiva, I unpeel----
Dead hands, dead stringencies.
And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child's cry
Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,
The dew that flies,
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red
Eye, the cauldron of morning.
A crown to they that can place both and what binds them back to back.
One farthing to they that can place this passage.
"Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade"
Don't just go and google it. I'll know if you did! Then you'll have nothing but the author's curse upon you. Can you live with that?
It moves me toward a beautiful peice written by a woman who was born on my birthday but who died before I got there. October 27th is promising and calm.
Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.
God's lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees!--The furrow
Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,
Nigger-eye
Berries cast dark
Hooks----
Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Shadows.
Something else
Hauls me through air----
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.
White
Godiva, I unpeel----
Dead hands, dead stringencies.
And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child's cry
Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,
The dew that flies,
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red
Eye, the cauldron of morning.
A crown to they that can place both and what binds them back to back.