Mood II
|
| I
just had to sit through again, you lover of warehouses and railroad tracks, the ticket that exits the city with no coming back, motels with clothes dropped on the floor like the thrown-away future, where the bad art -- that broiling autumnal scene over the bed -- won't quit either in this place where nothing gives up and sleeps. from The Fahrenheit Chronicles by Suzanne Lummis |
From
ROBINSON AT HOME
by Weldon Kees
Curtains drawn back, the door
ajar.
All winter long, it seemed, a darkening
Began. But now the moonlight
and the odors of the street
Conspire and combine toward one community.
These are the rooms of Robinson.
Bleached, wan, and colorless this
light, as though
All the blurred daybreaks of the spring
Found an asylum here, perhaps for
Robinson alone,
Who sleeps. Were there more music
sifted through the floors
and moonlight of a different kind,
He might awake to hear the news at ten,
Which will be shocking, moderately.
This sleep is from exhaustion,
but his old desire
To die like this has known a lessening.
Now there is only this coldness that
he has to wear...
He wakes
in sweat
To the terrible moonlight and what
might be
Silence. It drones like wires far
beyond the roofs,
And the long curtains blow into the room.