And, sometimes it seems
that: because a man,
being born in a tear
when his mother wept,
never takes off his sweat
or really finds a friend,
already in the cradle
makes his little fist.
But what a brave thing
he is, who has a fountain
at his hips, a brain:
that blossom on the spine!
And, when I look at the earth
and the earth is someone
I love, then it seems:
what a pity man
becomes a melancholy
beast that likes to think.
Thinking Man moblog.net
Bert Meyers, from “In a Dybbuk’s Raincoat Collected Poems“
GREAT PICTURE— really cute and fetal!
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