I've read so much stuff I can't remember
the words or the reason - like a geographical
tophat, too slender to stay put. North Carolina?
Was that it with those wasted fields of cotton?
All my life like this, and I've nowhere at all.
The lonely towns are calling me, while the
buckle-down cities are falling. Where to go?
There's a symbolism in the life of words :
the delicate caterwaul of the dying swan,
the twisted arc of a long white neck, the
love that smothers nothing with its grasp.