http://poetswithoutclothes.tumblr.com/
How like a bird with clipped wings,
or a bird with clipped wings that has just been fed,
Ezra Pound seems to me.
A picture of one deeply grateful and deeply nourished.
Or, a bird about to take flight.
Or a man singing through open rib cage,
making no sound.
Maybe he has said many times over, "I Am Ezra."
Maybe he is crying while singing.
That streak down his left cheek could be the well-worn track of a smile or a tear or both.
It could be that he is drinking air,
letting it drip messily down his mouth and chest.
I imagine him like this for a long time.
And now it seems to me a penis.
Skin and hair pushed back wide.
But where are his hands?
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