1. i'm crazy bout that chile but she gotta go. she don't pay me no mind no mo. guess her mama was right to put her out cuz she couldn't do nothin wid her. but she been mine so long. she been my heart so long now she breakin it wid her bad habits. always runnin like a machine out of control;
The wind rests its cheek upon the ground and feels the cool damp And lifts its head with twigs and small dead blades of grass Pressed into it as you might at the beach rise up and brush away The sand. The day is cool and says, “I’m just staying overnight.” The world is filled with music, and in between the music, silence And varying the silence all sorts of sounds, natural and man made: There goes a plane, some cars, geese that honk and, not here, but Not so far away, a scream so rending that to hear it is to be
Mine, says the cat, putting out his paw of darkness. My lover, my friend, my slave, my toy, says the cat making on your chest his gesture of drawing milk from his mother’s forgotten breasts.
Let us walk in the woods, says the cat. I’ll teach you to read the tabloid of scents, to fade into shadow, wait like a trap, to hunt. Now I lay this plump warm mouse on your mat.
Dey is times in life when Nature Seems to slip a cog an' go, Jes' a-rattlin' down creation, Lak an ocean's overflow; When de worl' jes' stahts a-spinnin' Lak a picaninny's top, An' yo' cup o' joy is brimmin' 'Twell it seems about to slop,
My dear, I wonder if before the end You ever thought about a children’s game— I’m sure you must have played it too—in which You ran along a narrow garden wall Pretending it to be a mountain ledge So steep a snowy darkness fell away On either side to deeps invisible; And when you felt your balance being lost
He was eight when they gave him the felt overcoat— his birthday.
He knew it was special. He was still reading Walter Scott not Gogol. The coat was light grey and he was a knight in armor. It was adamant. Iced snowballs and other missiles no longer hurt. Or barely.
He grew as do all boys who are not dwarves or midgets. The coat grew, too. It kept pain out, and in.
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size But when I start to tell them, They think I’m telling lies. I say, It’s in the reach of my arms, The span of my hips, The stride of my step,
Five hours, (and who can do it less in?) By haughty Celia spent in dressing; The goddess from her chamber issues, Arrayed in lace, brocades and tissues. Strephon, who found the room was void, And Betty otherwise employed, Stole in, and took a strict survey, Of all the litter as it lay; Whereof, to make the matter clear, An inventory follows here. And first a dirty smock appeared, Beneath the armpits well besmeared. Strephon, the rogue, displayed it wide, And turned it round on every side. On such a point few words are best,
To begin with, the slaves had to wash themselves well, and the men who had beards had to shave them off; the men were then given a new suit each, cheap but clean, and a hat, shirt, and shoes; and the women were each given a frock of calico and a handkerchief to tie about their heads. They were then led by the man selling them into a large room; the men placed on one side, the women at the other;
One afternoon I said to mummy, “Who is this person in my tummy? “Who must be small and very thin “Or how could he have gotten in?” My mother said from where she sat,
‘Oh! sister, he is so swift and tall, Though I want the ride, he will spoil it all, For, when he sets out, he will let me fall, And give me a bump, I know! Mamma, what was it I heard you say, About the world’s hobbies, the other day, How some would get on and gallop away, To end with an overthrow?’
‘I said, little prattler, the world was a race, That many would mount with a smile on the face, And ride to their ruin, or fall in disgrace: That him, who was deaf to fear, And did not look our for a rein or a guide, His courser might cast on the highway side,
The sidewalks were long where I grew up. They were as veined as the backs Of my Grandma’s hands. We knew every inch of pavement; We jumped the cracks Chanting rhymes that broke evil spirits, Played tag at sunset
Raven steals your name for an autumn joke: buries it along with you under the broadest hemlock known to squirrel or chipmunk. He croaks it’s too bad you were awake for the event. He accuses you of boring him with the same old questions over and over. You attempt revolt to prove his rattle is cracked and as brittle as his song.
Have you said your sermon this morning? the road it travels is dustyand wide and goes round and round and round the mountain to say itis obvious is to say it is crowded with refugees you and the others onthe road no destination in sight you are alive though boring at timesand the smell of you is instant nausea you breathe white breath in theearly morning air indeed you may have a flair for going round andround with a skip and a jump at the most unexpected moments wasn’tthat you on a music box dancing in perfect porcelain? a quake threwyou from your shelf but round the mountain you must go suppose foronce you went up the mountain? would that be a different directionor just more tiring? would it disturb the order of the ten thousand often thousand things? do you care? do you know whose sermon this is?it’s a habit you’ll have for life although things do slow down fall intothemselves and leave the world to silence and to aha? gotcha? you’re itfor now but it won’t be long before another sucker comes this way andyou can hide under the desk with the rest of us : look : sky and sea arean undifferentiated gray even the birds disappear but forecast faith ina word and the osprey is there again hanging head-down in the windit’s plain that being unsure gives you your daily terror you even lift aprayer for it bells ring and you know it is the buoy off Saunders Reefthe red light assures you the buoy is still there that no Debussy bellshave come to dismantle your ears you’re safe in being where you are notthat you’ve got a warranty for life no matter what the salesman said yousigned up for Metaphysics 1 cost a bundle left you high and dry : howdare you take all hope away? well in the first place it crash-landed yearsago you’ve been standing there imagining greaves breastplate helmetwith plumes the whole she-bang but don’t weep today for what you didthen there’s a lot to learn about letting go and you won’t hear a clangof armor when you do in your most invincible day you were a larvaunderfoot you lived by chance shape-shifting you are a fortunate onewithout a shell no plane overhead gun to your head you are accidentallyfree in the full terror of being who you are but tell me now this onceand forever have you built your language out of the things you love?
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