Tracy K. Smith

Life on Mars

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  • Aldair Apodacahas quoted2 years ago
    Down through flesh into the body’s own hell. Sometimes
    It takes forever for that song only the animals know
    To climb back up into air as if to burst the throat.
  • Aldair Apodacahas quoted2 years ago
    You know how, shoulders hiked nice and high, chin tipped back,
    So the song has to climb its way out like a man from a mine
  • Aldair Apodacahas quoted2 years ago
    The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.
  • Aldair Apodacahas quoted2 years ago
    I.
    I don’t want to hear their voices.
    To stand sucking my teeth while they
    Rant. For once, I don’t want to know
    What they call truth, or what flags
    Flicker from poles stuck to their roofs.
    Let them wait. Lead them to the back porch
    And let them lean there while the others eat.
    If they thirst, give them a bucket and a tin cup.
    If they’re sick, tell them the doctor’s away,
    That he doesn’t treat their kind. Warn them
    What type of trouble tends to crop up
    Around here after dark.
  • Aldair Apodacahas quoted2 years ago
    What

    Would your life say if it could talk?
  • Aldair Apodacahas quoted2 years ago
    The future isn’t what it used to be. Even Bowie thirsts

    For something good and cold. Jets blink across the sky

    Like migratory souls.
  • Aldair Apodacahas quoted2 years ago
    Time never stops, but does it end? And how many lives

    Before take-off, before we find ourselves

    Beyond ourselves, all glam-glow, all twinkle and gold?
  • Aldair Apodacahas quoted2 years ago
    Bowie will never die. Nothing will come for him in his sleep

    Or charging through his veins. And he’ll never grow old,
  • Aldair Apodacahas quoted2 years ago
    Like God, it has no face. Like lust,

    It flickers on without a prick of guilt
  • Aldair Apodacahas quoted2 years ago
    IT & CO.
    We are a part of It. Not guests.

    Is It us, or what contains us?

    How can It be anything but an idea,

    Something teetering on the spine

    Of the number i? It is elegant

    But coy. It avoids the blunt ends

    Of our fingers as we point. We

    Have gone looking for It everywhere:

    In Bibles and bandwidth, blooming

    Like a wound from the ocean floor.

    Still, It resists the matter of false vs. real.

    Unconvinced by our zeal, It is un-

    Appeasable. It is like some novels:

    Vast and unreadable.
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