A brightness cakes the objects of the world, grime of earlier seeings and all we know. The true world lives in a hovel further back. Darker than chokecherry in winter, smart, out past hills, rotting, past lynx trails, sunk down. Light from us fattens us and loves us when we look at where objects are. Time to learn to be homesick.
The air could kill us. You walk through violet, embedded flames of cold. You must recant the glamour of clarity. The world, the world, you'd like to live inside a tree.
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Tim Lilburn
from a poem called GAZING AT THE WALL
A brightness cakes the objects of the world,
grime of earlier seeings
and all we know.
The true world lives in a hovel further back.
Darker than chokecherry in winter, smart, out past hills,
rotting, past lynx trails, sunk down.
Light from us fattens us and loves us when we look at where
objects are.
Time to learn to be homesick.
The air could kill us.
You walk through violet, embedded flames of cold.
You must recant the glamour of clarity.
The world, the world, you'd like to live inside a tree.
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