The Emperor of Ice-Cream |
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by Wallace Stevens | ||
Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent curds. Let the wenches dawdle in such dress As they are used to wear, and let the boys Bring flowers in last month's newspapers. Let be be finale of seem. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream. Take from the dresser of deal, Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet On which she embroidered fantails once And spread it so as to cover her face. If her horny feet protrude, they come To show how cold she is, and dumb. Let the lamp affix its beam. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream. |
Forgive me, my thought process sometimes lacks discipline. I have strange ideas. I'm a sort of armchair philosopher turned poet. This is a writer's blog, but I do not publish my finished work here. I post fragments, pieces, ideas; works in progress. I test out ideas that may or may not become more fully realized. I write flash fiction and poetry. I love generic transgression and experimental poetry. I write mostly about art and failed romance. When all else fails, I post things that inspire me.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Carpe Diem
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