I hope what leftovers shrug themselves off The range, I hope The laughter permits me again To close the tunnel and deny the space Of one who lives beyond his hope. Lovely, Buxom one, muse, who are you, to deny, Without knowing what it is- -That you deny. For my friend, you are great, They have magnificence in themselves Who live this lively death with me, And yet I treasure the simple and the human, So would deny the tunnel its passage through To the ends of greatness, greatness- -The circumference of a one in the midst Of something much within his handling, though beyond The thought, a caricature of one, Before the thought a blessing, a relief, A praise to the only lord in a man I know, In the hopes they take the treble and the bass And make of this, a connotative power-positive: Most brightly obvious and most succinct- -In guessing, most the animal of language in The love one has, the animal the trope, What is conceived of what one is meaning Has nothing to little to do with what I mean Outside of love, the love for this Lively death I spend to the need, with others, This encincture round a broken tower, Better for the passage: and a fine relief, in hope, For what is positively meant.
Posted on: Sat, 26 Oct 2013 10:37:10 +0000
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