Skunk Hour

[tmcg]

From lnhammer and janni (and before I posted I saw ferragus and fionagh partaking too):

When you see this, post a bit of poetry in your own journal.

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One dark night,
my Tudor Ford climbed the hill's skull;
I watched for love-cars. Lights turned down,
they lay together, hull to hull,
where the graveyard shelves on the town. . . .
My mind's not right.

A car radio bleats,
"Love, O careless Love. . . ." I hear
my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,
as if my hand were at its throat. . . .
I myself am hell;
nobody's here--

only skunks, that search
in the moonlight for a bite to eat.

--From "Skunk Hour," by Robert Lowell

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I posted my favorite stanzas of my favorite poem a while ago, here.

Comments

[larryhammer]

A line from the poem. And don't be sorry — neither of us had written a novel yet, and hadn't the first clue how to. We took our lessons and moved on.

---L.