Untitled-8 [interket.co.uk] · Title: Untitled-8 Created Date: 20190111130116Z
Untitled
-
Upload
michael-morse -
Category
Documents
-
view
214 -
download
0
Transcript of Untitled
![Page 1: Untitled](https://reader036.fdocuments.net/reader036/viewer/2022080118/57509e3c1a28abbf6b0f4a4f/html5/thumbnails/1.jpg)
UntitledAuthor(s): Michael MorseSource: The Iowa Review, Vol. 23, No. 2 (Spring - Summer, 1993), p. 104Published by: University of IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20153416 .
Accessed: 14/06/2014 15:20
Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp
.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].
.
University of Iowa is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The Iowa Review.
http://www.jstor.org
This content downloaded from 195.78.108.199 on Sat, 14 Jun 2014 15:20:47 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
![Page 2: Untitled](https://reader036.fdocuments.net/reader036/viewer/2022080118/57509e3c1a28abbf6b0f4a4f/html5/thumbnails/2.jpg)
Two Poems Michael Morse
Untitled
That a body might sag with many weights and buoy itself with the word,
although the word fails its captain
many a time and to/for no avail
we of the lesser rank do toil:
take a town called Agnes with its fine people and subpar soil,
its metal gate and burnt red brick
with a clutch of blue gray lichen spin. All night a mayor's words echoed in my head
and wanting this language myself and others much like me
found the outskirts of Agnes and I swear our clapping came like rain.
There were stairs past heavy doors
on shrill hinges and finally a window
looking out over a town,
still Agnes perhaps, all but lights now and our eyes tracking out to lights end
where water lays a black tarp, where captains look east and want,
out of the blue, their little red-red.
104
This content downloaded from 195.78.108.199 on Sat, 14 Jun 2014 15:20:47 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions