Wednesday, July 27, 2011

This Is Vaguely Somehow About the Poem

But we in our motes
(may I offer you some?)
paint the foreground
with pointed perfection
of the few glimpses
he had in Giverney
with autumn within shot
to tell us that this novel nothing
pleases the sawdust sunlight
amid the carnal comments


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Ah, Sincerely

  At last it is self evident  There is nothing to put down But the clouds moving overhead  The dead stare into the black Spoiled and unmoved...