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Concrete poem by Eugen Gomringer. (via @pacificraft.bsky.social)

"I have been let into a sorry muddle." —@ivycomptonburnett.bsky.social

"Which brings me to John Ruskin’s definition of a poet as a person to whom things speak."

"Death of a Oaxaqueñian

So huge is God’s despair
In the wild cactus plain
I heard Him weeping there

That I might venture where
The peon had been slain
So huge is God’s despair

On the polluted air
Twixt noonday and the rain
I heard Him weeping there

And felt His anguish tear
For refuge in my brain
So huge is God’s despair

That it could find a lair
In one so small and vain
I heard Him weeping there

Oh vaster than our share
Than deserts of new Spain
So huge is God’s despair
I heard Him weeping there...."

--Malcolm Lowry

Nothing Else Matters.