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THE PROSPECT OF THE DAY
By Quentin Smith
I’d rather sink to the bottom of the sea
Among submarine flowers and quiet green waters
Than stand above here in the death of the sky.
Already it is mid-morning, and the sky
Is lifeless, like the bottom of an old plate
That stretches over all, and is motionless.
The dark alien conifers are grave markers,
Tombstones marking all the ground
That leans towards me from the horizon;
By the blackened tor of this stark land
I am encircled; I stand dead in the center.
Later in the day I will go back to my cabin
And read King Lear, and be bored.
I will look forward to the
Long slow existence of the stars
And the lengthening hours beneath them,
When I will become less and less conscious
Until I won’t have to be here anymore.
Written 1971 |