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rejectomorph

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First and Last [Apr. 29th, 2012|07:31 pm]
rejectomorph
Firsts for April 29: The first crane fly to get trapped in the house; the first earwig crawling on my sleeve; the first cricket on the back porch (silent, so probably a female.)

I woke too early today, and took in some sunlight. I saw an enormous crow strut along the street, making loud, boastful caws. An acorn woodpecker, duly unimpressed, perched on a utility pole's crossarm and chuckled at the spectacle.

I woke too early and went shopping late, and had to drag myself through the store, half dazed. The summery warmth was an extra soporific. Now, though the evening is cooling, I have no energy for making dinner. I wish I had thought to buy something for making sandwiches.

Though I'd like to lie down, I don't dare. I'd be fast asleep as soon as I blinked. Again I've forgotten to prepare iced tea in advance of the hot day, but I might just brew a few cups extra strong so they will stand up to ice cubes. Otherwise I don't see how I can stay awake long enough to.... Wait. What was I going to do?




Sunday Verse


Medusa


by Louise Bogan


I had come to the house, in a cave of trees,
Facing a sheer sky.
Everything moved,—a bell hung ready to strike,
Sun and reflection wheeled by.

When the bare eyes were before me
And the hissing hair,
Held up at a window, seen through a door.
The stiff bald eyes, the serpents on the forehead
Formed in the air.

This is a dead scene forever now.
Nothing will ever stir.
The end will never brighten it more than this,
Nor the rain blur.

The water will always fall, and will not fall,
And the tipped bell make no sound.
The grass will always be growing for hay
Deep on the ground.

And I shall stand here like a shadow
Under the great balanced day,
My eyes on the yellow dust, that was lifting in the wind,
And does not drift away.

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