tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14474631.post114371745288671306..comments2023-10-19T05:40:59.162-04:00Comments on Sippican Cottage: The Cure For The Black DogSippicanCottagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14940797380578921776noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14474631.post-1144726265914153192006-04-10T23:31:00.000-04:002006-04-10T23:31:00.000-04:00Hi amba- I'd never seen that. It's very good. That...Hi amba- I'd never seen that. It's very good. <BR/><BR/>That poor devil had the real Black Dog, and it came back out of the swamp, unaffected by the peepers, and ate his master.SippicanCottagehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14940797380578921776noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14474631.post-1144724441228201382006-04-10T23:00:00.000-04:002006-04-10T23:00:00.000-04:00Why does this remind me of Robert Lowell's "Skunk ...Why does this remind me of <A HREF="http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15279" REL="nofollow">Robert Lowell's "Skunk Hour" </A> . . . <BR/><BR/>One dark night,<BR/>my Tudor Ford climbed the hill's skull,<BR/>I watched for love-cars. Lights turned down, <BR/>they lay together, hull to hull,<BR/>where the graveyard shelves on the town. . . .<BR/>My mind's not right.<BR/><BR/>A car radio bleats,<BR/>'Love, O careless Love . . . .' I hear<BR/>my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,<BR/>as if my hand were at its throat . . . .<BR/>I myself am hell,<BR/>nobody's here--<BR/><BR/>only skunks, that search<BR/>in the moonlight for a bite to eat. [ . . . ]<BR/><BR/>I stand on top<BR/>of our back steps and breathe the rich air--<BR/>a mother skunk with her column of kittens swills the<BR/> garbage pail<BR/>She jabs her wedge-head in a cup<BR/>of sour cream, drops her ostrich tail,<BR/>and will not scare.ambahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12042450225428891273noreply@blogger.com