Amid the Stubble and the Stones, Amazed, a Small Worm Lisped to Me the Song of My Marrow-Bones

I was going to write that I'm not really as melodramatic in real life as I am as a pathetic pseudonymous yodeler onblog, but then I remembered the poem posted below, rediscovered looking for another like poem, so anti-SHAZAM! yo.

Also, busy, so I steal from my own comments: I'm dreading Planet away, but I'm not dreading the opportunities she will have at school or the opportunities we'll have with more time. Planet's freaking about being there, I'm freaking out, Earthgirl's freaking out, in two, three weeks, it'll still be weird but it will be fine.

Yes, I know melodrama is a coagulant, clotting doing anything unless everything can be accomplished. I'm working on it, and now I'll have more time.

• Was reading Kunitz (see poem below) so no Gaddis today.
• The daily duh, well said.
• Killing jack rabbits.
• Something has snapped.
• England's green and pleasant land.
• Planet of slums.
• Profits: where from, where to.
• Descent into feudalism.
• Capital concerns. 
• Rise of the image nation.
• Paul Ryan running?
• On Paul Ryan running.
• Paul Ryan as Sarah Palin.
• The Villagers and the Board of Corporate's Republican sub-division will swoon for Ryan.
• The Second Shittiest Human in the World is for it. 
• The Second Shittiest Human in the World tries to gut Perry.
• Options that matter.
• Another motherfucking ambitious Virginian. Would be fun to watch Cuccinelli and Cantor trying to ratfuck each other. 
• Oh, and fuck Mark Warner.
• Next week's Villager wankfest.
• Let the misery begin.
• Do you want to primary Obama? 
• A message from Outer Space.
• If they bring twitter to a fight, we bring guns.
• Try it before you buy it (includes new Her Space Holiday).
• Your lucky day in hell.
• Fucked Up.
• UPDATE! Pseu just out this is my head. Be in yours.
• Crossing.
• Here comes sunshine.
• Woke up with this in my head:

END OF SUMMER

Stanley Kunitz

An agitation of the air,

A perturbation of the light

Admonished me the unloved year

Would turn on its hinge that night.

I stood in the disenchanted field

Amid the stubble and the stones,

Amazed, while a small worm lisped to me

The song of my marrow-bones.

Blue poured into summer blue,

A hawk broke from his cloudless tower,

The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew

That part of my life was over.

Already the iron door of the north

Clangs open: birds, leaves, snows

Order their populations forth,

And a cruel wind blows.