Not right now
I've taken Franz Wright's poem "The Word I" and run
away with it.
Apologies to Mr. Wright; I've
done his brilliance a disservice. Ach, it is what it is.
The Word
"I"
Harder to breathe
near the summit, and
harder
to
remember
where you came
from,
why you
came
Spring's
harder,
and harder to say
the word
"I"
with a straight
face,
and
sleep--
who can sleep. Who
has time
to prepare for the
big day
when she will be
required
to say hello to everyone, but
goodbye
to the aforementioned pronoun,
relinquish
all the mind's
attachments
completely, and
witness
the end of one's
world--
harder in other
words
not to love
it
not to love it so
much
I hate fending off this (seemingly, at times)
overwhelming sense that my life isn't my own.
Posted: Monday - May 14, 2007 at 02:58 AM
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