We the Wordproletariat

Jacob Glatstein

1937

Night. In the darkest places sparkle traces
Of words. Loaded ships with ideo-glyphs
Sail away. And you, armored in silence and wisdom,
Unwrap word from sense.
Mementos—rain-veiled horizon,
Flickering return, barely recalled:
A book, a face, a smile, a yawn.
The cursed night has got into your bones.
Soften up, cover up, forget.
Don’t make a…
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