1981–1990 | |
Poem:
Alasdair Gray © 2005 | |
nerve netted here I sit, bee in stone honeycomb or beast in pit or flea in bin, pinned down, penned in, unable to die or fly or be any one thing but me, a hypochondriac heart chilled by the spittle of toads that croak on the moon’s cryptic hemisphere. But yet, loft-haunter, tunnel-groper, interloper among men, I am the Titan & my pen wet with blue ink or black alone can tell them what they thought and think and give them back the theme, scheme, dream whose head they broke, & left for dead. Crown, King, Divinity: all shall be mine to take, twine, make into a masterpiece of fine thread, strong line. Yes, let me write my life ten volumes in one book of good and bad friends, women who will and will not walk with me, The warped, harmonious, happy, sick & dead. While I have eyes to look, so let it be. Amen. |
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