Everything in silver. The dog in the road. The two dogs in the road. The limbs of the trees enrobed. In silver. The sun in silver. The tongues of the lambs lapping ice limbs, silver. There is a music in the road that the dogs dog to. That the people people to. It’s a dance I dance to. It’s silver. It goes: who is this place why did it home here, where’s the beginning, now hurt me. There is an honest to god answer. I don’t know what it is or where to find it, but I’m sensual to it. After all, we’re not going to be here for very long. Stand arm in arm with the conditions and marvel.
(Lucas Farrell from www.realpoetik.org)
89 notes, March 13, 2012