Andare, Partire, Tornare ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Meditations on Immortality T.S. Eliot Webster was much posessed by deathAnd saw the skull beneath the skin; And breastless creatures under ground Leaned backwards with a lipless grin. Daffodil bulbs instead of balls Donne, I suppose, was such another He knew the anquish of the marrow Grishkin is nice: her Russian eye Compels the scampering marmoset With subtle effluence of cat; Grishkin has a maisonette.The sleek Brazilian jaguar Does not in its arborial gloom Distil so rank a feline smell As Grishkin in her drawing room.And ever the Abstract Entities Circumambulate her charm; But our lot crawls between dry ribs To keep our metaphysics warm. 12:48 p.m. - 2002-12-16 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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