"The Eternal body of man is the imagination." - William Blake
A man...
no woman...
no man...
runs along.
hair lengthening,
and shortening,
face changing constantly.
skin tone moving from melody to melody,
changing completely, constantly.
but always young.
At her...
no his...
no her...
feet
flowers rise at the touch,
of each sole,
spring from the ground,
like lightning,
bolts running backwards,
but from time to time,
the flowers wilt,
at the touch of that soul.
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©2008-2009 ~mizunoyojimbo
Author's Comments
A bit of poetry that sprang forth in my William Blake class. A truly crazy artist, on a number of levels both good and bad. Nevertheless, I will grudgingly admit I learned a great deal in the class and I'd recommend anyone interested or even just really bored to go to the William Blake Archive [link] a website dedicated to both keeping his work alive and making it readily available around the world. If nothing more an interesting project in and of itself and lead by three of the leading authorities in the field of Blake research.
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May 12, 2008
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Comments
--
Most women look for a knight in shining armor, I'm looking for a werewolf.
The last flicker of daylight calls to me, but yet into the darkness I walk.
.K.
--
:looking up a suspect:
"Lloyd P. Nash." :laughs: "Wanna guess what the "P" stands for?"
"Is it pertinent?"
"Not even close."
- from "Due South"
[link] - Rubber ducks.
--
Most women look for a knight in shining armor, I'm looking for a werewolf.
The last flicker of daylight calls to me, but yet into the darkness I walk.
.K.
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