To Marc Crawford
from whom the commission
Whose broken window is a cry of art
(success, that winks aware
as elegance, as a treasonable faith)
is raw: is sonic: is old-eyed première.
Our beautiful flaw and terrible ornament.
Our barbarous and metal little man.
-I shall create! If not a note, a hole.
If not an overture, a desecration.â?
Full of pepper and light
and Salt and night and cargoes.
-Don-t go down the plank
if you see there-s no extension.
Each to his grief, each to
his loneliness and fidgety revenge.
Nobody knew where I was and now I am no longer there.â?
The only sanity is a cup of tea.
The music is in minors.
Each one other
is having different weather.
-It was you, it was you who threw away my name!
And this is everything I have for me.â?
Who has not Congress, lobster, love, luau,
the Regency Room, the Statue of Liberty,
runs. A sloppy amalgamation.
A mistake.
A cliff.
A hymn, a snare, and an exceeding sun.
Boy Breaking Glass
Gwendolyn Brooks
(1)
Poem topics: I love you, away, beautiful, faith, grief, light, music, night, success, sun, weather, room, mistake, broken, terrible, create, statue, window, sanity, love, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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