The world sleeps senselessly
Stretching its amber fur ‘cross the night sky.
The bridge shrouded by purring claws
Is but 2 pyramids of blinking white dots.
Fur glistens in wet light.
Orion curls his feet under his shivering bitch.
The stars are hidden; fog smiles toothily
Ships and men must sail alone.
Everything’s a fairytale
When amber globes glow in mist:
When fog sleeps at your feet.
12:05am. Flag strung from silent crane.
Fog for president!
The toes of the cottages across the bay
Snug in the murmuring dark.
Fog stalks them
And springs upon an empty house
As if upon a hapless mouse.
The poet awakes, abandoned.
Wandered lonely as an adverb.
Fog rolled in, hiding his ink-stand.
Happy is the smoke from your lips.
Frail fingers curl into fog’s fur
Faceless exhale, rushing to merge
With the smokish milling crowd.
Lonely skunk fumbles to lonely tree.
Old bums' frowns softened by
Heat of burning newspapers.
Trees bend closer to lamps
Each an old man, grumbling.
Fog laughing, swishes its orange tail.
Orange tabby will come in,
If you leave the door open.
But it will not be
Put out for the night.
My professor feels that the only way to appreciate wallace stevens is to attempt writing like him.
We read 13 ways of looking at a blackbird.
and had to respond to it with 9 ways of looking at... something.
The weather here being... questionable, this is what showed up. In 10 ways. And yup-- I do love eliot. Like a dear old distant friend.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Posted by The Wizard of Odd at 11:37 PM