The passage of the afternoon
Of a spring, usually remains such,
Under feet the wizened leaves
And from above the screen of a light
Coming down on everything,
Slowing and stretching the day
To the hilt of softened rays,
That all around lucidity paint,
Only to be assimilated and sensed
And turned into something
Even more wonderous, sensory a thing,
Outworldly.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Emancipation of poetry,
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The State Funeral
At least they have given her The State Funeral With tongue cut, She could not have spoken for The rare award, The police have done the th...
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Lord As a pianist whence Fully one fills a sense... An evening thinks perhaps it proper To become a starry night's divine lover... ...
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Once the sculpted face Fell and with it fell Our pride Our demons We made love after that By the sides of our past. (For 'Magp... -
For the last few days... They are not talking... They just listen together-songs... Not songs proper even-some kind of music, instrument...
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