Monday, March 12, 2012

Robert Creeley, "The Animal"

Shaking the head from
side to side, arms
moving, hanging as the
sign of pride,

wide open
to eat the
red meat

in the jungle,
in the heat.
But I am 
not animal,

discontinuous, on
two remote
feet. Then

it spoke, then
hair grew, and eyes,
and I
forgot me -

self - oh
no, oh not
(they say)
this like

an animal
he eats, and looks
like an animal
at us. It

spoke.    Who
said it
could not, who
did not know.

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