deepundergroundpoetry.com
This Body
I’ve lived within this body,
this frailing thing,
for over sixty years.
I think now that I know its ways
and all it holds inside itself;
the stories of its wants, its faults,
fragilities and strengths.
It has become
a narrative that is
utterly predictable,
a book I’ve memorized.
It cannot, even when it’s bold,
bring fire or a surprise to me.
We are now like settled friends.
But then, but then
on some incertain winter’s night
that’s yet to come, or other day
that’s close, I know
it will, it will,
betray the little that I am,
grow thin, grow pale,
and so, against my will,
take on the architecture of a ghost.
this frailing thing,
for over sixty years.
I think now that I know its ways
and all it holds inside itself;
the stories of its wants, its faults,
fragilities and strengths.
It has become
a narrative that is
utterly predictable,
a book I’ve memorized.
It cannot, even when it’s bold,
bring fire or a surprise to me.
We are now like settled friends.
But then, but then
on some incertain winter’s night
that’s yet to come, or other day
that’s close, I know
it will, it will,
betray the little that I am,
grow thin, grow pale,
and so, against my will,
take on the architecture of a ghost.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2
reading list entries 1
comments 6
reads 291
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.