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Today's poem, a section of Eunoia, by Christian Bok:
Lightning blinks, striking things in its midst with blinding light. Whirlwinds whirl; driftwinds drift. Spindrift is spinning in thrilling whirligigs. Which blind spirit is whining in this whistling din? Is it this grim lich, which is writhing in its pit, lifting its lid with whitish limbs, rising, vivific, with ill will in its mind, victimizing kids timid with fright? If it is – which blind witch is midwifing its misbirth, binding this hissing djinni with witching spiritism? Is it this thin, sickish girl, twisting in fits, whilst writing things in spirit-writing? If it isn’t – it is I; it is I...
2 comments:
I have neglected to post on these last few wonderful poems--thanks for alerting me/us to them!
Damn. I was at RSA, too. Small, bloggy world.
Got your comment over at my place -- good luck with your efforts! I'm polishing my Fairly Decent Proposal right now -- 5 hours to D-day!
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