rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Boring Myself

Tonight I am a dullard— more so than usual. I blame day after day of excessive heat. Though the evening has turned pleasantly cool, and the air is clear, my head remains as thick as last month's smoke. I might as well down another bottle of beer, as its soporific effect will be unnoticeable.

At least I can still do this:


Sunday Verse


Mid-Day


by H.D.


The light beats upon me.
I am startled—
a split leaf crackles on the paved floor—
I am anguished—defeated.

A slight wind shakes the seed-pods—
my thoughts are spent
as the black seeds.
My thoughts tear me,
I dread their fever.
I am scattered in its whirl.
I am scattered like
the hot shrivelled seeds.

The shriveled seeds
are spilt on the path—
the grass bends with dust,
the grape slips
under its cracked leaf:
yet far beyond the spent seed-pods,
and the blackened stalks of mint,
the poplar is bright on the hill,
the poplar spreads out,
deep-rooted among trees.

O poplar, you are great
among the hill-stones,
while I perish on the path
among the crevices of the rocks.
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