Jun. 1st, 2016

proximoception: (Default)
The roads outside of town
So like the different sorts of thought
Are wet tonight. Each has caught
The one moon by the same sleeve of its gown
But what that makes of them
Or they of it
Must vary in ways well nigh infinite
Though sister gleams tip each branch of the diadem.
The map we'll lend's unlike the map we're in,
And that map isn't like the one we see,
Nor can we lend our eyes,
But all agree
That here is where begin
Those curves of which the cornered urban fantasize.
Where clustered coins of brightness part the shades
As though deciding where and how to loose them
The country men bump into country maids
Who blush like country children and then afterwards produce them.
Or so dreams City Tim
Arrested by the rumored Rural Tess
Who picked up proves much lighter than you'd guess
But twisting to look back at him
To show what even so she understands
Each skin-star met beneath his fingertips
Seems holding back the push of fifty hands.
He follows this new thought and down she slips.

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