Subject: Letitia

From: "cecil dwight" <[email-masked]>
Date: Mon, 2 Apr 2007 15:16:36 +0300

XIX. Jones Sound and Beaufort Sea
This perfection, this absence.
A pallid yellow lingers
His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;
Against this sky no longer of our world.
will be penciled on the coffeeshop menus.
From point to point of meaning≈open? closed?≈
the old men burnish stories of Yaz and the Babe
That patch of white at the very end of the road
Appear to lift up from the lake;
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.
Between the vertex that the far-lit gray
Point, after all, when finally one reaches
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
The surge of swirling wind defines
What? What can you do?
That rings, with faithful tongue, its pious note
VI. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil Rush

http://www.radiodeejay.hr/forum/lang/inexed.htm    

ЙНР╦МНЙ БНР МЮЬХ ТНРЙХ Я БШУНДМШУ =))