Elizabeth Bales Frank
***
and we degraded prisoners
destined to hunger until we eat filth
while the imagination strains
after deer going by fields of goldenrod in
the stifling heat of September
somehow
it seems to destroy us
It is only in isolate flecks that
something
is given off
No one
to witness
and adjust, no one to drive the car.
The full poem, by William Carlos Williams, http://www.writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88v/to-elsie.html
posted by Elizabeth at
9:27 PM
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