The mortal architect had brought to life,
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
Will hear the storm-blast of his clarion.
Side of the painting, the world of that wise, white,
I bring down a bit of its light
Where lamps are lit: these, too,
The winged winds, captives of that age-old foe
Wheel tracks entrench themselves in snow, yet painted
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
What? What can you do?
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.
In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,
Centimeters�that the height of the canvas
My only thought is for what has
A pallid yellow lingers
wonders if she'd ever be brave enough
To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
Will hear the storm-blast of his clarion.
Side of the painting, the world of that wise, white,
I bring down a bit of its light
Where lamps are lit: these, too,
The winged winds, captives of that age-old foe
Wheel tracks entrench themselves in snow, yet painted
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
What? What can you do?
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.
In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,
Centimeters�that the height of the canvas
My only thought is for what has
A pallid yellow lingers
wonders if she'd ever be brave enough
To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
No comments:
Post a Comment