Cores. Knots. A vortex around which nothing swirls or moves. Here then. Where I am now and can't seem to move, some perfect cripple; a suspended brain. It was cold, it is cold. It will be cold. And dry. A root hits tablerock, curls upward, winds around itself until it becomes a noose. Obvious! Obvious! All the better. Simple things: just now a horse walked past the window. I was naked when I carried the dying dog to the couch. And weeping with alcohol and rock and cold and stillness, horses and roots, unmoving brain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PARTING SONG by WILLIAM AITKEN OUT OF THE VAST by AUGUSTUS WRIGHT BAMBERGER SLEEPING AND WAKING by JANE BARLOW CHANGING MOON by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HOMUNCULUS IN PENUMBRA by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |