Thursday, May 26, 2011

3107. 'THINGS' (John Ashbery)

THINGS
(John Ashbery)
And all the flat cities
I've seen before me,
bundled, as if in a
vestibule of night.
The severed hand
that stands for life -
well, much besides
your life depends on
it. Remember, call me.
-
Look down now from
this hapless window - the
wafer-thin pedestrians
are still passing by.
-
Seasons like this end.
Worms die upon worming
their own way out from
the compost heap.

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