THE MEANING OF THINGS - 2
Look how the trees are thrust up against the window
like young girls taken against their will
bruised, their lips shake against a swollen tongue, they are not to be the same again.
A sense of wool between the teeth
The stone pine, Pinus pinea,
O so we see you Umbrella pine gawping across the city as
hopeful tourists gobble buildings as their own.
No wonder poor Keats died in the middle of the Spanish Steps with the cold in his bones
and thoroughly disappointed like that what with the
others barging past not seeing the binds of his chest or
the caution of his heart. Ignoring his worries that he “may never live to trace
their shadows, with the magic hand of chance”.
Look how the trees are thrust up against the window
like young girls taken against their will
bruised, their lips shake against a swollen tongue, they are not to be the same again.
A sense of wool between the teeth
The stone pine, Pinus pinea,
O so we see you Umbrella pine gawping across the city as
hopeful tourists gobble buildings as their own.
No wonder poor Keats died in the middle of the Spanish Steps with the cold in his bones
and thoroughly disappointed like that what with the
others barging past not seeing the binds of his chest or
the caution of his heart. Ignoring his worries that he “may never live to trace
their shadows, with the magic hand of chance”.