with a little help from Yeats. . .

A Coat

I made my song a coat
covered with embroideries
out of old mythologies
from heel to throat;
But the fools caught it,
wore it in the world’s eyes
as though they’d wrought it.
Song, let them take it,
for there’s more enterprise
in walking naked.


I started a poem late last night, about an occasional wish to weave myself a new skin to wear — for those days when I wish I were someone else, when I worry that years of loss and disappointment and, well, just age, maybe don’t “hang” so well on my face; when I believe that the face I show the world does not reflect that which is really inside.

And dreams can be deceiving,
like faces are to hearts. . . (Fiona Apple)

My poem’s current state is a lot of snippets with nothing coherent to hold it together yet. But then I ran across this today, and it reminded me of it. So this will stand in its stead, at least for now.

2 thoughts on “with a little help from Yeats. . .

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