Franz Wright Poems
|2.||Home For Christmas||5/6/2012|
|4.||Entry In An Unknown Hand||5/6/2012|
|9.||Bees Of Eleusis||5/6/2012|
|13.||Thoughts Of A Solitary Farmhouse||5/6/2012|
Comments about Franz Wright
You do look a little ill.
But we can do something about that, now.
The fact is you’re a shocking wreck.
Do you hear me.
You aren’t all alone.
And you could use some help today, packing in the
dark, boarding buses north, putting the seat back and
grinning with terror flowing over your legs through
your fingers and hair . . .
I was always waiting, always here.
Know anyone else who can say that.
My advice to you is think of her for what she is:
one more name cut in the scar of your ...
If I stare into it long enough, the point comes when I don’t know what it’s called, a condition in which lacerations are liable to occur, like a slip of the tongue; when a dropp of blood might billow in a glass of water, blooming in velvet detonation and imparting to it the colorless, tasteless and originless fear in which I wake.