Friday, May 13, 2016

Suppose it were Friday cxiii: In the fluent café

      Happens all the time. You have
      to hasten away from your table
      for a moment and you glance at
      a nearby stranger and then nod, 
      at your half-sipt macchiato and 
      folded paper. The appeal is too
      familiar to be stated.

      Watch this for me ?

      Which came first, the change of
      rhythm or the emotion? The text
      had hollowed itself out, to sal-
      vage itself. Had this been an act 
      of force, or of our literature?




No comments:

Post a Comment