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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=352638" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Toward Accuracy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">We’re high enough that what I call fog might be cloud.<br>Not Everest high, or Chomuolungma, “Mother Goddess<br>of the World.” If we named things what they are, <br>our sentences would be monsoons, long rains of sound.<br>Morning is “the time I suspect I am a horse,” dusk<br>“the light which treats our shadows like taffy.”<br>The number of times my name changes in a day,<br>from “looking at the world with eyes of wood rasps”<br>to “feathers have replaced my bones,” rules out<br>the wearing of name tags: I wear a chalk board,<br>thesaurus, that book of whispers, of meaning sex.<br>“There’s a woman who smokes a cigarette<br>now and then, who picks tobacco off her tongue<br>as something moves along the fault line<br>of the horizon, knees pulled to her chest,<br>her breath wearing a dress of smoke”<br>is one way I think of you when I think of you.<br>And when I think of you, “wants to be a candle”<br>isn’t romantic but accurate, wicked light<br>leans in, away, writhes to get out of, to leap harder<br>into what it is.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Bob+Hicok">Bob Hicok</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=352638" data-title="Toward Accuracy de Bob Hicok" data-description="We’re high enough that what I call fog might be cloud.
Not Everest high, or Chomuolungma, “Mother Goddess
of the World.” If we named things what they are, 
our sentences would be monsoons, long rains of sound.
Morning is “the time I suspec..."></div>
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