Status Updates From Selected Poems

The pain of living and drug of dreams
Curl up the small soul in the window seat
Behind the Encyclopedia Britannica.
Issues from the hand of time the simple soul
Irreaolite and selfish, misshapen, lame,
Fearing the warm reality, the offered good,
Denying the importunity of the blood,
Shadow of its own shadows, spectre in its own gloom,
Leaving disordered papers in a dusty room;
Living first in silence after viaticum.

I am tired with my own life and lives of others after
me,
I am dying in my own death and the deaths of those after
me.

Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.
There is no life in them. As I am forgotten
And would be forgotten, so I would forget
Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And god said
Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only
The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping
With the burden of the grasshopper...

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
(...)
Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to to care and not care
Teach us to sit still.

Because I do not hope to know again
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Becazse I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and spring flow, for there is
nothing again

Is it like this
In death's other kingdok
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our kingdoms

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and ai together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always anither one walking beside you
Glidibg wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whetger a man or a woman
Bit who is that on the other side of you?

i know he is talking about jesus but idgaf this is about an existential sadness and loneliness for me

Aptil is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilqcs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

You tossed a blanket from the bed
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.

There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of toast and tea.