July 2010
8 posts
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1507: Injured on the Job
I’ve grown a goiter by dwelling in this den— As cats from stagnant streams in Lombardy, Or in what other land they hap to be— Which drives the belly close beneath the chin: My beard turns up to heaven; my nape falls in, Fixed on my spine: my breastbone visibly Grows like a harp: a rich embroidery Bedews my face from brush drops thick and thin. My loins into my paunch like...
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“One often hears of writers that rise and swell with their subject, thought it...”
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