Sunday, June 10, 2007


Once more she recovered herself

And thrust up her clenched hands in frenzy

Imaginations are clogged with other people’s outputs

You also will be men; it will not belong

If at rare moments you stop smelling sulphur

It’s because you have begun smelling gas

Out of the bowels of the earth like a snake

Put sleep as black as beauty

In the secret of my belly

He had dropped his arm

And stood with his hands against his thighs

Like a statue


ish said...


JDA said...

perhaps your pupils were thinking of 'Granchester Meadows'? just call me David Gilmour....

JDA said...

Ohh, didn't comment on the ode did I? to tell you the truth I wish I could...great mysteries to me are poems deep and personal.