Hey! hey, hey!

My sister commented on my last entry.

She said she wondered whether R. Kelly watched it.

R. Kelly, if you've forgotten, is the guy who sang the corny-o song: I Believe I Can Fly. He's better known for watching kiddy-porn and being arrested for that.




Well, anyway, my sister and I will be watching the finals. It's TONIGHT--no, NEXT MORNING!!! Monday morning! Am Excited. I like the thrill of being up that time of the night.


Here's a poem:


Seascape

This celestial seascape, with white herons got up as angels,
flying high as they want and as far as they want sidewise
in tiers and tiers of immaculate reflections;
the whole region, from the highest heron
down to the weightless mangrove island
with bright green leaves edged neatly with bird-droppings
like illumination in silver,
and down to the suggestively Gothic arches of the mangrove roots
and the beautiful pea-green back-pasture
where occasionally a fish jumps, like a wildflower
in an ornamental spray of spray;
this cartoon by Raphael for a tapestry for a Pope:
it does look like heaven.
But a skeletal lighthouse standing there
in black and white clerical dress,
who lives on his nerves, thinks he knows better.
He thinks that hell rages below his iron feet,
that that is why the shallow water is so warm,
and he knows that heaven is not like this.
Heaven is not like flying or swimming,
but has something to do with blackness and a strong glare
and when it gets dark he will remember something
strongly worded to say on the subject.


Elizabeth Bishop

Splendid, isn't it?