The Strong By Their Stillness by Carl Phillips
Most mornings here, mist is the first thing to go —first
the mist, then the fog, though hardly anyone seems to
the difference, or even care, the way for some a dead buck
is a dead buck: the road, the body, a little light, the usual
unshakeable escort...You can love a man
more than he’ll ever love back or be able to, you can
your understanding of that
with a thing like acceptance or,
worse, all you’ve ever deserved. I’ve driven hard into
the gorgeousness of spring before; it fell hard behind me:
the turning away, I mean, the finding of clothes,
awkwardly back into them...why not drive
forever? Respect or shame, it’s pretty much your
own choice, is how it once got explained to me. I’ve already
said—I’m not sorry. Magnolia. Wild pear. So what if one
wish begets a next one,
only to be conquered by it, if the blooms
break open nevertheless like hope?
So, some of you probably remember those batches of graphics I dropped on here a few weeks ago. Most of the ones I made at the time were lyrics from Taylor Swift’s folklore, but I also made some using snippets from my favorite poems, and it just so happens that I found one containing lines from today’s poem. I hope you like it. Disclaimer: I am not nor do I claim to be a professional graphic designer.
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