a poem for today, 13 January 2012
[a syllable-sorted sonnet of six sentences and its image]
Why enormous intergalactic events always look like kitsch paintings of enormous intergalactic events.
Mice and humans are so closely related after all.
They say 'running away from your problems' like it's a bad thing, but if they don't catch up, what's the problem.
If it's any solace, everybody dies alone.
How long does it have to go on before you just let go.
We are still dealing with a simple going-on to which one cannot confer the inner unity of a history.
No comments:
Post a Comment