“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label talk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label talk. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
On Spinal Tap
Books talk together.
I have heard this.
You have too.
You see,
amidst sentences
not (in) between
each other but by reference
to me, not of
but For…
autobiography,
the stories write themselves
into serials.
Footnotes are added at the end.
All the words are the same
type-set in New Order.
Of course,
it has all been said before,
and yet
it seems as if nobody is really
on the same page,
or reads
between the lines,
between covers
under the sheets
on the walls.
How we prop up
the spines
tells more
of our posture
than the Titles
given.
What can be
gleaned from our
rough-deckled edges?
Painting by Giuseppe Crespi, c. 1725 in [Public domain].
Sunday, March 31, 2019
a lone path way
some thing stirs
out there
with out us
with in
we name hope
hanging on
be came
pulling up
our gaze
only then
some thing
in finite
may be
seen.
Photo credited by Carol M. Highsmith, Santa Catalina Island, 2012 in [Public domain].
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