1 min read
Слушать(AI)To a Steam Roller
The illustrationis nothing to you without the application.
You lack half wit.
You crush all the particles downinto close conformity, and then walk back and forth on them.
Sparkling chips of rockare crushed down to the level of the parent block.
Were not 'impersonal judment in aestheticmatters, a metaphysical impossibility,' you might fairly achieveit.
As for butterflies,
I can hardly conceiveof one's attending upon you, but to questionthe congruence of the complement is vain, if it exists.
Marianne Moore
Marianne Craig Moore (November 15, 1887 – February 5, 1972) was an American modernist poet, critic, translator, and editor. Her poetry is noted
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Silence
My father used to say,Superior people never make long visits,have to be shown Longfellow's gravenor the glass flowers at Harvard Self reliant like the cat —that takes its prey to privacy,the mouse's limp tail hanging like a shoelace fro...
Nevertheless
you've seen a strawberrythat's had a struggle; yetwas, where the fragments met,a hedgehog or a star-fish for the multitudeof seeds What better foodthan apple seeds - the fruitwithin the fruit - locked inlike counter-curved twinhazelnuts ...
The Fish
wadethrough black Of the crow-blue mussel-shells, one keepsadjusting the ash heaps; opening and shutting itself like aninjured fan The barnacles which encrust the sideof the wave, cannot hide there for the submerged shafts of thesun,spli...
Peter
Strong and slippery, built for the midnight grass-party confronted by four cats, he sleeps his time away — the detached first claw on his foreleg which corresponds to the thumb, retracted to its tip; the small tuft of fronds or katydid legs above ...
