The Man Rock
A man is a rock in a garden of chairs and waits a longtime to be over.
It is easier for a rock in a garden than a man inside his mother. He decided to be a rock when he got outside.
A rock asks only what is a rock.
A rock waits to be a rock.
A rock is a longtime waiting for a longtime to be over so that it may turn and go the other way.
A rock awakens into a man. A man looks. A man sleeps back into a rock as it is better for a rock in a garden than a man inside himself trembling in red darkness.
From The Tunnel: Selected Poems
{ 1 } Comments
You know, in New York City we have subway poems, shitty little snippets and stupid little smears from local children to established masters and this thing makes me feel like I’m sitting there now, but I’m wishing I was reading this poem and not little Jessica’s dream of the Fragile Icicle Squid, lost in a mis-formed shrimp box. Or maybe I keep my library in shrimp boxes. I can’t remember. I was a rock in a garden when I used the subway. I try not to anymore.
Post a Comment