Mary Karr Quote
At the Sound of the Gunshot, Leave A Message That's what my friend spokeinto his grim machine the winter he first went madas we both did in our thirties with stillno hope of revenue, gravely inkingour poems on pages held fast by gyres the color of lead. Godless, our minds did monster us, left us bobbing as in a swampuntil we sank. His eyes were burn holesin a swollen face. His breath was a venomhe drank deep of. He called his own tongue a scar, this poet who can crowbar openthe most sealed heart, make ash flower,and the cocked shotgun's double-zero mouths(whose pellets had exploded star holes into plaster and porcelainand not a few locked doors) never touched my friend's throat. PraiseHim, whose earth is green. (for Franz Wright)
At the Sound of the Gunshot, Leave A Message That's what my friend spokeinto his grim machine the winter he first went madas we both did in our thirties with stillno hope of revenue, gravely inkingour poems on pages held fast by gyres the color of lead. Godless, our minds did monster us, left us bobbing as in a swampuntil we sank. His eyes were burn holesin a swollen face. His breath was a venomhe drank deep of. He called his own tongue a scar, this poet who can crowbar openthe most sealed heart, make ash flower,and the cocked shotgun's double-zero mouths(whose pellets had exploded star holes into plaster and porcelainand not a few locked doors) never touched my friend's throat. PraiseHim, whose earth is green. (for Franz Wright)
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