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Not quite a Newb

Joined: 30 May 2007
Posts: 76
Location: In a field, In a tent, in the s**t

PostPosted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 4:08 pm Reply with quoteBack to top

I got this attached to yet another cheap program link. These people are really * up, yet eloquent.

And up there I cannot tell if it is still
This third day of our January thaw,
As it sits there like an eventual
Sphinx of questioning substance, or a sort
Beneath the snowflakes I notice façades
Not daring to oppose
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
The road, but not far enough ahead
A kind of snow, which hesitates
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bring
So you can watch me watch uplifted snow
Upon from the right by far trees, that white place
Of the matter of snow here. Both of us have grasped
Of meaning like these—the world created by
X. The British Attack on the Arctic
Along the walls are only empty niches,
Of tree-dividing sky finally comes down to
Down the road, at Cypress Gardens, a woman
Snow haze gleams like sand.

How nice.

And another
Pierced by the mist that fades away,
Like theirs ends? From what distant point of vision
Writhing their stunted limbs,
Covering the land—
Away, my songs, must we go
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,
Seems reflected in the infinite of the lamps.
A pallid yellow lingers
visitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop
watching calisthenics from the grandstands.
Against which we have been projected? What . . .
Of the matter of snow here. Both of us have grasped
there's a pulpy orange-y smell from juice factories....
It's snowing, it's returning to a town
High on this surface, guarding the edge of Père
End of the comedy.
XIII. The Route to the North
Covering the land—
The face of a Quos ego),
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