Body, growing lighter daily, sat heavily
Down in a broken-bottomed wicker chair
As if daring it to collapse, as if on a dare.
The world was coining new worlds daily
And body dangled off one twiggy end
Of the globe’s collective brain. The brain
Wanted to claim it was cloning not coining,
Was charming, not cloning. Body wanted
To wander around in it, to argue with it, only
If, if only, body could win. The branching
Forest of symbols, glowing with its own light
But shading out the sun and filtering stars,
Was gathering body in, a moldering fruit
That could never have managed original sin.
No comments:
Post a Comment