rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Reset Nineteen, Day Eighteen

Saturday turned into a nap night, and the nap lasted until two o'clock this morning. Full nights (or days) of sleep and short naps are both things of the past for me. Now I've looked out the window and the sky is turning light. The hours fell like dust. All I remember is that the mockingbird was singing every time I went outside. It said everything. There's nothing left for me to say.



Sunday Verse



Archaic Torso of Apollo


by Rainer Maria Rilke


We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast’s fur:

would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.

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