Art thou pale for weariness of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, wandering companionless among the stars that have a different birth, and ever changing, like a joyless eye that finds no object worth it's constancy? Thou chosen sister of the Spirit, that gazes on thee til in thee it pities. . . -Shelley (To The Moon)

Thursday, July 12, 2012

See Our, A Very Poet

Geraldine Chaplin by Harold Chapman
 I open the door once more, to put words out like a bowl of milk for sweet night kittens.

1953 Ace Books, artist unknown
William Seward Burroughs II
had eyes intense and sad
before he died.

Poets eyes

but stark as new planets.

Don't ever become

so unkown
(after long periods of unknowableness)
that your eyes can't be visited.

Keep the last of the jazz

blue note beads
around your neck

Your songs'll maybe better

than rain, stars & laughter
& prose manuscripts
'graved on killed cold stone.

Be intense as air

Be sad as a backyard scuffle

But eat cake and listen to someone

sometime a friend.

I'm telling you WSB killed his eyes.

Don't kill yours
even though you're a poet sure.

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