Will he be black?
He will scream,
"I will long for
to will glide
angrily"
This stream may stride and glare, but
it is angrily meagre
A sort of wall
A kind of invasion
A sort of delight
A kind of eye
Lustre is so motionless
it will quiver you
As if he will be steady, turning,
laying, like a use.
He will be shiny, his terrible
droop
Poem attributed to me (that I did not write) in Issue #1 at For Godot, Research in Poetry.
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1 comment:
I came here by accident- reading through my search for Nuruddin Farah... loved this poem!
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