random poem pulled from a random book while i waited for any old seat in some computer lab
Let the heart's pain slack off
To that secret place we go in time
Without rhyme's safety to assure us,
All gift is, that perfect joy. Some sign.
Smoke rising from parapets of glass.
No book I turn to but I hear
An inner voice so dear say
"Pass over the commands today; forget
What is allowed, and what is not.
What youth has got. The bizarre symptoms
Of yesterday. The past equal to now."
No words here fit for print, no worlds
either disclose themselves, just debris
solid enough to erect a wall against
all mentioned above; open only like
doors to love.
-John Wieners, Selected Poems, Black Sparrow Press, 1986
To that secret place we go in time
Without rhyme's safety to assure us,
All gift is, that perfect joy. Some sign.
Smoke rising from parapets of glass.
No book I turn to but I hear
An inner voice so dear say
"Pass over the commands today; forget
What is allowed, and what is not.
What youth has got. The bizarre symptoms
Of yesterday. The past equal to now."
No words here fit for print, no worlds
either disclose themselves, just debris
solid enough to erect a wall against
all mentioned above; open only like
doors to love.
-John Wieners, Selected Poems, Black Sparrow Press, 1986