I didn't mean it! I didn't!

I was only trying to find some documentary footage of my favorite poet of all time (smirk). Honest! And I couldn't find ANYTHING except still pictures, all black-and-white, with the overblown oboe of his windy recitations playing in the background. Makes me feel he lived in a black-and-white world, perhaps blowing invisibly from pub to pub as his poems boomed over the loudspeaker at the Wretch and Parrot.

Then I found this, and my God. I don't know who does these things, but they are both a fascination and a punishment. It's not highway robbery if I steal six seconds of it, is it? A rooking girl who stole me for her side.

The first time I died

Epitaph

The first time I died, I walked my ways;

I followed the file of limping days.

I held me tall, with my head flung up,

But I dared not look on the new moon's cup.

I dared not look on the sweet young rain,

And between my ribs was a gleaming pain.

The next time I died, they laid me deep.

They spoke worn words to hallow my sleep.

They tossed me petals, they wreathed me fern,

They weighted me down with a marble urn.

And I lie here warm, and I lie here dry,

And watch the worms slip by, slip by.

Dorothy Parker




http://margaretgunnng.blogspot.com/2012/01/synopsis-glass-character-novel-by.html

http://members.shaw.ca/margaret_gunning/betterthanlife.htm