To the Hag of the Commonplace

Tiresomeness, I hate you. You lift the gold
Crowns off the heads of girls while I am looking.
You send down suns without sunsets, waive dawns
   as the same old,
Grind down feasts into meals, find nothing shocking,
Insure all habits against breakage and, anti-dew,
Act on flowers like a shine-remover. You
Would localize the distant and at the local zoo
Have us visit and visit the tyger into tameness.
You have kept from us all news that might have
   unstrung us.
In the name of equality you average out the world
   to sameness.
You prove the world is flat. You even the odd
Until we are sure there is nothing foreign among us.
You have made us memorize the will of God.

(“To the Hag of the Commonplace” was published in Volume 10 of The Connecticut River Review, Stratford CT.)

Published on October 18, 2006 at 9:12 pm  Leave a Comment  

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