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outcamewater

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Though she's the door

she can't be the room

Created on 2007-06-25 01:42:23 (#13236989), last updated 2008-10-07

36 comments received, 62 comments posted

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15 Journal Entries, 3 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 2 Userpics

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Name:	emily

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"I must pull myself together, get a grip, just as they say, but I feel spilled, bewildered, quite mislaid. I did not restore my house to its youth, but to its age. Hunting, you hitch through the hollyhocks. I'm inclined to say you aren't half the cripple I am, for there is nothing left of me but mouth. However, I resist the impulse. It is another lie of poetry. My oranges are all there, though it's there where i fail - at the roots of my experience. Poet of the spiritual, Rilke, weren't you? yet that's what you said. Poetry, like love, is - in and out - a physical caress. I can't tolerate any more of my sophistries about spirit, mind, and breath. Body equals being, and if your weight goes down, you are the less."
-William Gass

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