Man's not a singing animal, his tongue hangs from a wall -- pinch the stone to make a moan from the throat a single note breaks the air so bare and harsh birds die. He's crab-necked from cold, song splits his voice like a lake's ice cracking. His heart's a rock, a metronome, a clock, a foghorn drone of murder. God, curse this self-maimed beast, the least of creatures, rivet his stone with worms. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG OF THE BOW, FR. THE WHITE COMPANY by ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE WHEN MALINDY SINGS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 14 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER by JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND THE VALLEY OF FERN: PART 1 by BERNARD BARTON THE SWALLOWS by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER TO MRS. ANN FLAXMAN by WILLIAM BLAKE ON MR. FREDERICK PORTER'S ROOM OF PICTURES, 1930 by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |