"Tonight, someone, unable
to see in one darkness,
has shut his eyes
to see into another.
Among the sleepers, he is one
who doesn't sleep.
Know him by his noise
Hear the nervous
scratching of his pencil,
sound of a rasping
file, a small
restless percussion, a soul's
minute chewing,
the old poem
birthing itself
into the new
and murderous century."
[Insert twelve exclamations of wonder.]
ReplyDelete[Furthermore,] I want the blouse. Or just pieces of that lace.
Favorite part: the old poem
ReplyDeletebirthing itself
into the new
and murderous century.