[excerpt]
What have I lost? At night my hooting tongue,
Naked of feathers and of softening years,
Sings through the mirror at me like a whippoorwill
And then I cannot sleep.
"I was a singer once," it sings.
"I sing the song that every captured tongue
Sang once when free and wants again to sing.
But I can sing no song I have not sung."
What have I lost? Spook singer, hold your tongue.
I sing a newer song no ghost-bird sings.
Read "A Postcript to the Berkeley Renaissance" by Jack Spicer
Posted by Cieciel at October 26, 2004 01:13 PM