THE WORDS
The words are out again, and I'm
not. You may read your Celine,
and Kafka and Dos Passos and
Grant. Some Civil War General he
was! I'd rather perform miracles
on top of the ice. But cannot.
-
Even simple I know enough of these
matters to read failure's own face.
Down below me, the vermillion cars
go by with all their spacy other colors,
and I hear their tire-entrance noises
approach from a half mile away. It's
just that way : This world has some
sort of physical rules which dictate and
command these things. The light of
the big, fat moon, on Halloween Eve.
The disquiet such comfort brings.
The disquiet such comfort brings.
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