swearing at motorists - numbers have too many meanings to me





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Published on Jun 6, 2012

from number seven uptown - secretly canadian 2000

by Carl Sandburg

Scrutinize the Scorpion constellation
and see where a hook of stars
ends with a lonely star.

Go to the grey sea horizon
and ask for a message
and listen and wait.

See whether the conundrums
of a heavy land fog
either sing or talk.

Let only a small cry come
in behalf of a clean sunrise:
the sun performs so often.

Speak to the branches of spring
and the surprise of blossoms:
they too hope for a good year.

Search the first winter snowstorm
for a symphonic arrangement:
it is always there.

Take an alphabet of gold or mud and spell
as you wish any words: kiss me, kill me,
love, hate, ice, thought, victory.

Read the numbers on your wrist watch
and ask: is being born, being loved,
being dead, nothing but numbers?


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