Black Sparrow
Sing great voices!
I can picture my favorite poet on grainy black and white film, half-drunk, completely unshaven, smoke billowing thinly from an unseen ash tray. He doesn’t speak but grumbles, as he flicks away words floating around his face, then pauses to remember a feeling. I don’t love this man uncritically. I hear his words and take them at face value. Yet I do love him, though I’m glad I didn’t know him. He was heavy and I probably would have tried to carry him for awhile. I like the way his words slowly sliced him open to reveal a soft interior. He shows me I’m not who I think I am, and I don’t have to do what’s not mine to be done.
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- Jonah · April 23‹ Dance with YouIn This Moment ›