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Saturday, 11 April 2009



I didn't know the tune of the lyric book you were reading sadly
It was someone's pensive elsewhere song
Its words had never reached me
I didn't know whether you were absorbed in your reading
Or merely thinking about something else

The Reader Wreathed with Flowers (Virgil's Muse):
Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot, 1845 (Musee de Louvre, Paris)


parallax said...

She might/may be thinking just how unfortunate life is when you have to live with a foot that looks like a platypus' claw.

Then again she may/might just be trying to balance her accounts.

Is the romance of the gaze what we wish for in others? I think it'd be cool if she was planning a revolution. Why is she reading someone else's poetry and not her own?

TC/BTP said...


In answer to your second question: because imputations are cheap.

In answer to your first question: I'm too shy to look.