It's an ordinary day
and men with scythes
for tongues, move from room to room;
poets, they call themselves,
and with imprecision
they stare and stalk each breath.
There are arguments between those
who write, and those who mean it
to death, and those who plainly suffer.
But eventually - as if their
histories hold them for ransom - they
lock themselves up, separately, without
ever confessing to each other that, they suffer
because life, for everyone else
seems like an easy nothing.
and men with scythes
for tongues, move from room to room;
poets, they call themselves,
and with imprecision
they stare and stalk each breath.
There are arguments between those
who write, and those who mean it
to death, and those who plainly suffer.
But eventually - as if their
histories hold them for ransom - they
lock themselves up, separately, without
ever confessing to each other that, they suffer
because life, for everyone else
seems like an easy nothing.
we're like an accordion in how we behave with one another. perhaps in how we behave in ourselves.
ReplyDeletethe seeming is only seeming, but what a ruse it is for everyone, the easy nothing, a beautifully deceptive phrase.
but who might want it?! easy, or nothing?!
one of my favorite poems very early in my life was "you have the lovers."
let's all always be lovers))
do you know it? you must! listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IN7WwrIUQo
xo
erin
Erin,
ReplyDeleteThere are a lot of things I can't help. And one of those is the tendency to promise. Everyone suffers in some way or the other. I will listen. Let's all always be lovers, indeed.