Thursday, December 05, 2013

After Reading Autobiography of Red, Anne Carson

After Reading Autobiography of Red, Anne Carson

To remember
the lavaman and his other skin,
the gold burn like enveloping
the sun, what bursts he can 
growing bold

and maybe a little
asking for those who may be curious,
and bold, a
little afraid, to pay cents
to touch his golden skin, to know
a little of him, this passion for
substance and for naming
objects by name, for what
they are, at least for this moment
in hopes and time
and open-aired graciousness
from the faint memory of 
what human can mean,

can be

fragments float in, up,
gently, if wondered about
and the mind, with love,
invites them.

In this, his case
the red, the wings, the
otherworldly things, with what
sun buried on the inside,
consciously claiming the inside
as "mine"!
as lines are defined
and become known.

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