Such a fatigue of adjectives, a drone of alliterations, a huffing of hyphenated words hurdling the meter like tired horses. Such a faded upholstery of tears, stars, bells, bones, flood and blood a thud of consonants in tongue, night, dark, dust, seed, wound and wind.
A brackish reach of shoal off Madaket--The sea was still breaking violently and nightHad steamed into our North Atlantic Fleet,When the drowned sailor clutched the drag-net. LightFlashed from his matted head and marble feet,He grappled at the netWith the coiled, hurdling muscles of his thighs:The corpse was bloodless, a botch of reds and whites,Its open, staring eyesWere lustreless dead-lightsOr cabin-windows on a stranded hulkHeavy with sand.robert lowell
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