BLOOD CULTURE: In Memoriam a Robert Kroetsch
( Alberta poet + 2011)
Night comes quietly when you discover the simplest of light lifting its wings to block the carnage.
How do you manage these broken days? Can you believe what happened with the riot kiss?
You knew something got lost in the translation so you stole that language, that lexicon, the only life
Capable of proving none exists except as converts to some thing or other, lists magnificent or mundane,
Knew what lay in waiting for those western stars fading against the unforgiving intrusion of what happens
When comets or catastrophes somersault across the screen - Or, do we mean roaring? - all nor nothing, just like that.
Amen.
26 June 2011
-Leonard Cohen
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