Because I should be writing my thesis:
Becky Adams
e.e. bears out the nuclear age
a fat good cloth, a painful new
he hopes will bring him less to feel
(unless the air beneath the earth)—
come closing in on watered birth
and stream to stream the every flow
soaked gray hands of factored steel
no side to mention, no grieving talk
(though hearts can grow to barely walk)
and this they gave in solemn jest,
nobody thinking rod or creel
nobody dirty moving nice
or ripping store in hope of rice
they drank their swigs and also moon
made open farmer sing and sing
come fleshly born in copper coil
and pavement end in glistening oil
1 comment:
As always I think the ending to your poem is excellent. I think you end poems very well.
The last two lines were my favorite, and the two before those were my least, so take that as you will knowing my editoral prowess.
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