One of these days...
…I’ll write about being happy. Until then, here’s the latest reboot of Painted Curbstones. Click through for a trip down abstraction lane.
…I’ll write about being happy. Until then, here’s the latest reboot of Painted Curbstones. Click through for a trip down abstraction lane.
Daniel Johnston (the late, great) wrote in a song once that his life was starting over again. Over again. And maybe he meant it, but his life didn’t and ours won’t either.
This space, if I understand the person who created it correctly (and as it was I…
Told
The air lay softly on the green fur
of the almond, it was April
and I said, I begin again
but my hands burned in the damp earth
the light ran between my fingers
a black light like no other
this was not home, the linnet
settling on the oleander
the green pod swelling
the leaf slowly untwisting
the slashed egg fallen from the nest
the tongue of grass tasting
I was being told by a pulse slowing
in the eyes
the dove mourning in shadow
a nerve waking in the groin
the distant hills
turning their white heads away
told by the clouds assembling
in the trees, told by the blooming
of a black mouth beneath the rose
the worm sobbing, the dust
settling on my eyelid, told
by salt, by water, told and told.
—Philip Levine