Friday, July 2, 2010

Alekhine's gun

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Nausicaa 361

It was curiosity that rose
From a pocket and flew into tomorrow
And found these strange heights
And watched today, hot and worse, fall away.
Forgiving souls squint against this light of longing
They don’t know to remove their glasses
They forgive themselves these same wrongs
And put them away in twilight.
Then, to keep themselves from cutting
They wave to the seaweed,
Their boots suppose that sometimes
The eye turns up lame and limps for home.
Certain of its own poorness it dances with the devil for show
And finds the polite air
Where it makes its jilted way
Without reply
Without wonder.

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