FRIGHTFULLY INTIMATE
I try to make these things mine, the places
on which I can rest things, so as to continue.
The dark light from cubbyholes, and the fair
onus of being alone : sever me with some old
fortitude, leave it go. And, anyway, what
will I do should it rain?
-
The rain will fall, mind you; no doubt about
that. And I shall hear it - no doubt there either.
Falling. Dripping. Dropping. Blowing. Oh how
I hate. There is no reasoning more intimate
than that - not at home in a world that
leaves no choice.
-
It's been said that marble is but a limestone
pressurized and segmented, sometimes ingrained
and striated with other things - a slash of blue
magnite, or reddish pink tint. I'm weary now;
too much for me to figure.
-
And anyway, what will I do should it rain
some frightfully intimate day?
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