The Pressures.

(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

One comment

  1. sheswingsinbirches · March 2, 2015

    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!

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