Monday, January 16, 2012

Sir Isaac Newton On MS And Alchemy

Words always mean something else
the way departed souls

are beyond the world
redeeming light from inertia

digging and planting herbs
to turn the digestive tract

luminous
a thief could cut me open

find the golden river
the gleaming kidney

he could cut and polish and sell
the priceless soul

three gray sparrows on the line
and one golden finch

amibiton transmuting desire
to pure gold

it's always like that
the cure-all

never arriving

-Julia Mishkin (The New Yorker, December 19th edition)

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