Someone send help, Morrissey is trapped in a vending machine
Here is the grackle, people.
Here is the fox, folks.
The grackle sits in the bracken. The fox
Here are the fronds, friends,
that cover the fox.
The fronds get in a frenzy. The grackle
Here are the ticks, tykes,
that live in the leaves, loves.
The fox is confounded,
and God is above.
George Starbuck, “Fable for Blackboard” from Bone Thoughts (Yale University Press). Copyright © 1960 by George Starbuck.
December 22nd Birthday girl…Barbara Billingsley, June Cleaver
“Only the Mistakes Belong to Us”
—Jorge Luis Borges
This tree keeps falling over. I prop it up,
it falls again. And the rain falls
day after day like a broken wet record.
Here are the birds—tiny, smaller
than birds. And like fresh butcher’s
paper, the light so bright it hurts.
So the birds are paper and so is the sky.
It will be easiest if I draw you a picture,
each of us a different shade of gray.
What goes right is an accident. It can’t
be blamed on us. What goes wrong
is almost impossible to see. How quickly
it disappears, like someone’s hand
into someone else’s pocket.
Yesterday was Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s wedding anniversary. Here’s a passionate, discursive letter she wrote him in the summer of 1930, after her breakdown. “The sheets were always damp. There was Christmas in the echoes, and eternal walks. We cried when we saw the Pope. There were the luminous shadows of the Pinco and the officer’s shining boots.”
For more of this morning’s roundup, click here.
"You didn’t care: so I went on and on — dancing alone, and, no matter what happens, I still know in my heart that it is a Godless, dirty game; that love is bitter and all there is, and that the rest is for the emotional beggars of the earth and is about the equivalent of people who stimulate themselves with dirty post-cards –”