Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs Always wrong to the light, so never seeing Deeper down in the well than where the water Gives me back in a shining surface picture My myself in the summer heaven, godlike Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs. Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb, I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture, Through the picture, a something white, uncertain, Something more of the depths—and then I lost it. Water came to rebuke the too clear water. One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom, Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness? Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.
3 comments:
I can't tell you how many times my penis has been groped and mistaken for a weapon.
Geez.
Thanks for stopping by my blog.
LOL. Unlike Curtis, my penis have never been mistaken for a weapon.
That was a pretty low-key search and weird.
I'm still laughing about how that whole conversation unfolded.
"What's that?"
"My penis."
"Oh, sorry."
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