BRING IT IN
There's nothing natural-like about
natural light; the way the sun
shoots to the floorboards, all
that dust and lighting. Some
old moss-board scrapes along
the ground, and outside the
evening a mouse or two will
scamper. After a while one just
learns to live that way. Never
yearns; just learns. Some of
these hang-dog guys, they'd
rather be in Connecticut, or
out in the far Hamptons. All
that mysterious legacy stuff
they claim the need for :
-
Laboring for days over twenty
lovestruck lines of some new
poetry supposed to redeem the
feelings of the world. Oh what
green should this be? And what
tattered grayness should I refer
to here? Leave the damned thing
alone and write the poem, and go.
We don't need your loving labor.
-
It's as much for show as clown
and tangelo. The reaping swagger
of pure poet, out for a day of a
night on the town : look at me,
look at me, working; this frown.
I must bring it in before I lose it.
Oh, this sacred muse I harbor! Oh!
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