Ivy is a strange thing to have to chew. It's mildly toxic too, so swallowing those truths like ivy sounds like the poem already knows they'll make you a bit sick on the way down.
Not strange at all.
Thought
Thought
Ivy is a strange thing to have to chew. It's mildly toxic too, so swallowing those truths like ivy sounds like the poem already knows they'll make you a bit sick on the way down.
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Nights in the strangeness of being a stranger,
longing for the strangeness of a world that is not strange at all—
a world in which you are at a disadvantage
because of who you are, what you believe, and what you say.
And it persists—everything will persist—beyond the thick darkness
that can be seen in the distance, behind me.
Every would-be saving device inevitably dissolves.
Within these contexts, truths are revealed that must be accepted,
swallowed like bitter morsels of chewed-up ivy.
Thoughts
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Ivy is a strange thing to have to chew. It's mildly toxic too, so swallowing those truths like ivy sounds like the poem already knows they'll make you a bit sick on the way down.
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Putting the thick dark behind the speaker and still in view is the odd choice here. Behind means you already went through it once.
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Nights in the strangeness of being a stranger,