(Untitled)

[bigsleytheoaf]

I want poetry, recently.

I watched "Through a Glass Darkly."

It was like some kind soul sat beside me and touched my face,
as if, for a time, someone else existed in this world.

I want truth, recently, vulnerability.
I read poetry and most of it isn't true, it's not saying anything.
It misses the point.

Naive truth is not truth.
Truth that misses a

Comments

how bout this shit

[zarvoczarvoc]

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more
than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green
stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see
and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the
vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I
receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Re: how bout this shit

[bigsleytheoaf]

This gave me chills last night, though I may have been in the mood to get chills. It seems likely.

I am probably less sensitive, today.