Dylan Thomas
1,435 words
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.
— From Dylan Thomas, “In My Craft and Sullen Art”
Death & Rebirth: Three Poems
Rust Belt Hotel as Metaphor for America
It’s abandoned, it’s been abandoned for
About half a century now. Once it
Was impressive — vaulted ceilings, tall
Windows surrounded by a polished floor
Of marble, an art deco lobby . . . Bit
By bit, though, it all fell apart. Wall
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