With a pleasing aversion Nico reads some poetry. It was recommended to him by an acquaintance. `Maybe it will make you somewhat more mellow` the acquaintance said . `Well, i doubt that will ever happen` Nico said. `You just never know` the acquaintance, that belonged to the by Nico maligned group of optimists, said.

He browses through the poems of a certain Tennyson who is dead and rightly so. Rightly so, given the following lines;

 Move eastward, happy earth, and leave
Yon orange sunset waning slow:
From fringes of the faded eve,
Oh, happy planet, eastward go:
Till about thy dark shoulder glow

etc, etc. It it clear that Tennyson must have been dropped on his head a lot as a child. With a firm blow Nico hopes.However, he does have a few lines that are to his liking;

`Death, Oh death
gloomy gloomy gore of red
come, oh come`

 And;
`Our heads weep and are inclined
 against each other weep and weep

Though he can not imagine a head which he would be fond of, unless it would be an ugly head. He thinks of his acquaintances, but unfortunately they are all handsome. By reading poems a poetry vein burst open within him. He picks up his pen and writes:

`Black blood
extracted from red
my gray soul
is made of lead
oh death , oh death`

0 reacties