pictochatting a 12 year old
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we just broke up, he moved to New Zealand
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I told my mum I was at your house
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I cant text my parents took my phone away
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Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine;My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of bloodand air through my lungs;dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn;The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore, andA few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms;The sound of the belch’d words of my voice, words loos’d to the eddiesof the wind;The delight alone, or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields andThe play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag;hill-sides;meeting the sun.The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed andHave you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the earthmuch?Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?Stop this day and night with me, and you shall possess the origin of all poems;You shall possess the good of the earth and sun—(there are millions of sunsYou shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through theleft;) eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books;You shall listen to all sides, and filter them from yourself.You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me:
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