Cores. Knots. A vortex around which nothing swirls or moves. Here then. Where I am now and can't seem to move, some perfect cripple; a suspended brain. It was cold, it is cold. It will be cold. And dry. A root hits tablerock, curls upward, winds around itself until it becomes a noose. Obvious! Obvious! All the better. Simple things: just now a horse walked past the window. I was naked when I carried the dying dog to the couch. And weeping with alcohol and rock and cold and stillness, horses and roots, unmoving brain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...O GLORIOUS FRANCE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HER EYES by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON MARY'S LAMB by SARAH JOSEPHA BUELL HALE CUMNOR HALL by WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE |