Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476863" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Snow On The Streets</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Snow on the streets grooved by tires <br>into a bar-code. A band burning its first c.d.<br>Garbage bags humped against the parking meters <br>like terraformed drunks in an albino mindscape. <br>I want to sleep. But savage clouds are fuming <br>with moonlight. Oblivion's sweet, my little death, <br>gentle as a snowflake but the prelude to it<br>is pierced by cauterizing anxieties <br>like a needle park for voodoo dolls. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'd rather be a butterfly, a pinwheel <br>spinning on an axis through my thorax <br>but you can't have it all. I tilt away from the sun<br>at perigee and try to stretch the night out <br>like a budget of meds for the month. <br>The dark's a cool poultice that draws <br>the infection out of my dreams. It <br>sublimates my sorrows like dry ice <br>that skipped the tears. I don't want to get wet <br>in an ice-age. Crucified by icicles <br>that drip like syringes in a limestone cave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I smear my face in red ochre, blood <br>with desiccated binders, oil pastels, <br>and lay my prophetic bones under the firepit.<br>I place a great stone on my chest <br>like the weight of the world <br>to make sure I never get up again<br>but pain is a homeless ghost <br>and I don't think, even with my knees <br>popped under my chin like an embryo <br>every part of me is going to fit<br>my place at the table like a grave. <br>I throw a few cornflowers in<br>and wander off with my spirit <br>like a thought wave that's tagging along. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I chip away at my heart <br>like an obsidian lunette <br>with a bone that's edging it <br>into a phalanged Clovis point<br>for a throwing spear to penetrate <br>the mammoth of the wooly moon. <br>I think I'm going extinct.<br>I've culled too many stars.<br>The herds are thinning over my head.<br>The green of the traffic lights <br>that turned yellow in the fall <br>drops its single, blood-stained berry in the snow. <br>As the birds and the bards say <br>of the chokecherries, ripeness is all. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Snow-blinded by this white page, <br>and blazing is a kind of blindness, <br>I want to leave something behind <br>for people to follow like the tracks<br>of a wounded caribou writing <br>in the cuneiform Braille of my starmud<br>you can read with your fingertips<br>like a hungry clan that hasn't eaten for a week. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I don't want to be sought or thawed out by anyone<br>who isn't burning my fat in their lamps<br>or sewing my hide with a splinter <br>of my femur, threading my sinews <br>through the eye of a needle<br>stitching me up in an emergency room<br>like the mouth of a wound <br>that's had its say, and holds its tongue <br>like the exhausted flavour of silence<br>masticating a wad of pitch and pine gum<br>like the sacred syllable of the spear point <br>I was trying to make an era ago<br>before I got stuck in this one like a tarpit, <br>an exile returning on a migratory journey<br>to the prodigal museum of my homecoming exit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=476863" data-title="Snow On The Streets de Patrick White" data-description="Snow on the streets grooved by tires 
into a bar-code. A band burning its first c.d.
Garbage bags humped against the parking meters 
like terraformed drunks in an albino mindscape. 
I want to sleep. But savage clouds are fuming 
with moonlight. Ob..."></div>
</div>
</div>