bookmate game

Tracy K. Smith

  • Aldair Apodacaцитирует2 года назад
    Weightless, unhinged,

    Eons from even our own moon, we’ll drift

    In the haze of space, which will be, once

    And for all, scrutable and safe.
  • Aldair Apodacaцитирует2 года назад
    I didn’t want to wait on my knees

    In a room made quiet by waiting.

    A room where we’d listen for the rise

    Of breath, the burble in his throat.

    I didn’t want the orchids or the trays

    Of food meant to fortify that silence,

    Or to pray for him to stay or to go then

    Finally toward that ecstatic light.

    I didn’t want to believe

    What we believe in those rooms:

    That we are blessed, letting go,

    Letting someone, anyone,

    Drag open the drapes and heave us

    Back into our blinding, bright lives.
  • Aldair Apodacaцитирует2 года назад
    Death was thinking what it owed him:

    His ride beyond the body, its garments,
  • Aldair Apodacaцитирует2 года назад
    IT & CO.
    We are a part of It. Not guests.

    Is It us, or what contains us?

    How can It be anything but an idea,

    Something teetering on the spine

    Of the number i? It is elegant

    But coy. It avoids the blunt ends

    Of our fingers as we point. We

    Have gone looking for It everywhere:

    In Bibles and bandwidth, blooming

    Like a wound from the ocean floor.

    Still, It resists the matter of false vs. real.

    Unconvinced by our zeal, It is un-

    Appeasable. It is like some novels:

    Vast and unreadable.
  • Aldair Apodacaцитирует2 года назад
    Like God, it has no face. Like lust,

    It flickers on without a prick of guilt
  • Aldair Apodacaцитирует2 года назад
    Bowie will never die. Nothing will come for him in his sleep

    Or charging through his veins. And he’ll never grow old,
  • Aldair Apodacaцитирует2 года назад
    Time never stops, but does it end? And how many lives

    Before take-off, before we find ourselves

    Beyond ourselves, all glam-glow, all twinkle and gold?
  • Aldair Apodacaцитирует2 года назад
    The future isn’t what it used to be. Even Bowie thirsts

    For something good and cold. Jets blink across the sky

    Like migratory souls.
  • Aldair Apodacaцитирует2 года назад
    What

    Would your life say if it could talk?
  • Aldair Apodacaцитирует2 года назад
    I.
    I don’t want to hear their voices.
    To stand sucking my teeth while they
    Rant. For once, I don’t want to know
    What they call truth, or what flags
    Flicker from poles stuck to their roofs.
    Let them wait. Lead them to the back porch
    And let them lean there while the others eat.
    If they thirst, give them a bucket and a tin cup.
    If they’re sick, tell them the doctor’s away,
    That he doesn’t treat their kind. Warn them
    What type of trouble tends to crop up
    Around here after dark.
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