The Blind Giant And I
Dresser drawers and bottomless pits
Open slowly to scarcely seen chests
Of grime, beauty, puerile notions,
Self-doubts and the pettiest thefts.
To this and that I seek a name
And Tremble agaze druids from no time nor place.
Far from caresses, I sought
Buttresses of slime
And now I plot fealty to real-estated time.
I threw a dirty rag to windy crags and open fields
And looked the other way.
Often I learned how not to pray,
And often did I dine on any soul's malcontent.
Finally arisen from its slumber, the
Blind Giant Sharpened its pencil
And eroded into its birthplace, a sea, a river,
A winding, knotted tree with many rings but not of circles;
Instead made of outside the lines coloring books with crayons of only
Grey and nests built of barbed wire.
From his home he remembered his nascent days
From his memories he found his ancient ways
And he grasped what he had lost
And he entered the doors of Paradise.
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