Jan 2020
In one of those nights where your eyes are useless
But to feel wetness, pooling, cooling your skin,
There's a song of images that won't progress.
There are thoughts paper thin and all is dim,
Yourself included.
There's a cool beach.
There's someone to share the deep.
There's a tender reach.
There's the ocean
Pooling, cooling your skin.
Pulling back the curtains
Stops the performance,
And all is dark,
As though cold tar.
But to feel wetness, pooling, cooling your skin,
There's a song of images that won't progress.
There are thoughts paper thin and all is dim,
Yourself included.
There's a cool beach.
There's someone to share the deep.
There's a tender reach.
There's the ocean
Pooling, cooling your skin.
Pulling back the curtains
Stops the performance,
And all is dark,
As though cold tar.
"You tossed a blanket from the bed,
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back
And the light crept up between the shutters
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed’s edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands."
-T.S. Eliot
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back
And the light crept up between the shutters
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed’s edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands."
-T.S. Eliot
