Romantic MovementGrood Poet No. 5, and the last I'll discuss in such terms, is Claudia Rankine. Commentary to follow.
I have to wait ‘til the goddamned trees speak to me
before I can go on, you know, proceed.
Giddy to go by, I ride and ride and ride and ride
until the sun or something of the sort takes me down.
Do la-la, I do la-la by the brook. Fusky stuff.
Ripples in puddles, or nerves across a surface, slow.
We go down to soon go by. We go by and by.
Weeds wreck an angle I am taking to arrive
somewhere close to here, transformed, among friends.
Another self, another time of day, another sound.
Monday, February 14, 2005
A poem from correspondent Karl Parker dedicated to yours truly and my little dog, too:
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