That nothing intercept the burning of our fates, as sweet as an orchard may we stand in the nude tiger-eyed rather than be provided an umbrella from the sun, piercing the deaf-to-a-thousand-stories the day after a war, a cold-stopping chill in the heart of a people. Let us board up like a hundred windows giving onto hell the material body of our message, the joy in true contact with things, merciful things, the very bonds of an idiot society, and stand on our last pivot, a magnificent move, a steady, untoward mountain of a move, and speak in a straightforward manner with the least important least visited, raped, riddled speech in nature, no, not from your balcony, not outside your door or within, but to death's own homesickness speak with our eyes down on the sex of our loved one no one's name, let no one out of clay and earth grieve rain's rainbow, love, alone, yet say the face through the back of the head, the front of a unicorn from behind, horsing, shining - ... | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AS KINGFISHERS CATCH FIRE by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE TWELVE-FORTY-FIVE (FOR EDWARD J. WHEELER) by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER EBB by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM by ALEXANDER POPE TO RICH GIVERS by WALT WHITMAN WOO NOT THE WORLD by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II |