Friday, October 30, 2009

Poem

This scythe that cuts
Its swath through space

Of unremitting air, see it
Does not stop its wishing

To hesitate there.

2 comments:

  1. Oui, mais

    Si j'ai du gout, ce n'est gueres
    Que pour la terre et les pierres.


    --Arthur Rimbaud

    ReplyDelete

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