But how does this work? And yet you see yourself growing up around the other, posited life, afraid for its inertness and afraid for yourself, intimidated and defensive. And you lacerate yourself so as to say, These wounds are me. I cannot let you live our life this way, and at the same time I am slurped into it, falling on top of you and falling with you. At this point it is again time for forgetting, not casuall so as to repeal it delightedly later on, but with a true generous instinct for ending it all.
John Ashbery exerpt from The New Spirit in 3 poems
1 comment:
That was beautiful -- and I love all the other poems you have posted on your blog :)
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