(Love twists
the young man. Having seen it
only once. He expected it
to be, as the orange flower
leather of the poet’s book.
He expected
less hurt, a lyric. And not
the slow effortless pain
as a new dripping sun pushes
up out of our river. )
And
having seen it, refuses
to inhale. “It was a
green mist, seemed
to lift and choke
the town.”
–Imamu Amiri Baraka
The Poetry Corner 
Reblogged this on Sheswingsinbirches and commented:
My post this morning, The Pressures., with the photo of the “dripping sun” was somehow minus the poem that bears the name. Here it is!