Sunday, November 20, 2011

The Shoulders of Giants

I was thinking about Townes, and Dylan, and Gillian, and Tom Waits, and how art gets made. I wrote a poem about it. Here it is:


I spoke to you in the sleepless dark as if you were a deity
Your voice was my wings and my crutch
I followed your words into the wilderness and wept in the wastes
In ruined temples I tore out my heart and offered it to you
You hold it
like a vice holds an egg

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