Wednesday, March 24, 2010

I misread a Nick Drake title

"Paradise" for "Parasite." So it came to this dark place.

Paradise, Parasite

On the party barge the freshman lounges. Two months
and she’s back in the yellow rooms, taxing her eyes.

Alcott lent Thoreau his axe to chop fuel for heaven.
Thoreau complains that it’s dull, sharpens it for him.

The biographer gives up her job, roams the world to bother
the survivors, calls home for a new set of clothes.

Nick Drake pulls out our secrets, steals the air from our lungs,
and pins it all to a stone in Tamworth-in-Arden.

A father watches his job die, his marriage die. He picks up
the sharp axe. When the work is done and all are sleeping

he detaches the floating dock and pushes off, singing laments
that no one will be left to hear. The sun goes on shining.

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