Gray Mirror

Share this post
Brown
graymirror.substack.com

Brown

Dec 24, 2021
Comment6
Share

Desert rain is the reign
Of mud.

The dirt has no roots
To hold it.

Free, it marries water
And crowns it brown.

Not before your death or after
Had our gully run.

Now it is dirt brown
And man-deep.

Now me-without-you
Swims into view:

Plant without roots.
(Lord knows

How the sagebrush does it.)
I was the tree,

It turns out, that grows
On another tree:

Tall but weak in wood,
Obligate

As symbiont.
That stalk,

Mere woody pith,
Nearly a vine,

Itself would never hold
Much wind—

The widower is born again
As a child.

At mid-century
He learns to walk,

Again the class clown
In high school;

Misadventures with girls,
College Bowl

(No one can fucking touch me
In College Bowl)

PhD programs
And startup days—

Ontogeny
Repeats itself

From tap to meristem,
Battering pith

In ice-brown rain,
Iron wind

And useless flood,
Stalk to wood—

Or such at any rate
Goes the theory

Of a brown Christmas.

Comment6
ShareShare

Create your profile

0 subscriptions will be displayed on your profile (edit)

Skip for now

Only paid subscribers can comment on this post

Already a paid subscriber? Sign in

Check your email

For your security, we need to re-authenticate you.

Click the link we sent to , or click here to sign in.

Tim
Dec 24, 2021·edited Dec 24, 2021

Beautiful poetry, filled with sorrow.

Curtis! Jenn lives on in your children. Always remember that, even as you mourn.

Expand full comment
Reply
KW
Dec 24, 2021

"... like a group of college freshmen

Who were rejected by Harvard and forced to go to Brown!

We're Rhode Island Bound!"

Expand full comment
Reply
4 more comments…
TopNewCommunity

No posts

Ready for more?

© 2022 Curtis Yarvin
Privacy ∙ Terms ∙ Collection notice
Publish on Substack Get the app
Substack is the home for great writing