Subject: Juliet

From: "janenna manda" <[email-masked]>
Date: Wed, 4 Apr 2007 03:24:08 +0300

His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;
Is dumb; he is the mute white stony shape
Alberti, Brunelleschi, Sangallo,
With a hand freed from weight,
Like some poor wounded wretch—long left for dead
Point, after all, when finally one reaches
By the design of our own silent eyes
and turn it into something cartoon-funny.
Never does any motion, sound, or light
Like theirs ends? From what distant point of vision
A kind of snow, which hesitates
and turn it into something cartoon-funny.
Reshaping magnified, each risen flake
As it sits there like an eventual
Out of the road into a way across
IV. The Paths to Cathay
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
Onto my frozen fingers.
His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;