new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
Masterfully chiseled from that obdurate mass, language, in which so much unfathomed memory forever remains hid. Especially appreciated: the essential interior rhyme graven in again/weathered.Again, and againto returnto the rockface, askingthe samequestionsof the muteoracle. Howlong, then? Andif notnow, when?
Now, that's what I'd call an exceptionally eye-opening, close and intense reading--and closing--of a poem.Thanks, Tom.
Oftimes the rocks are full of faces! What do they want? Are they to be trusted?