and backwards go the men into the garden, and what is it herding them but a haircut and a vacuous look they had when they were twenty, which earned its horns twice over if they had the same cut and look when they were thirty. Forget about great men, and soon the great forgetting will be over, leaving all that is left all over. Forward go long sleeves, a longitude, and shame. What is herding them you are. All over the world, curtains drew and obscured lush portages the world over, and there were some sighs but mostly it was better than continuing to want better. Ponies cannot love children. But O, those ponies. Those ponies.
From Northerners, published by New Issues Press. Copyright © 2011 by Seth Abramson. Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.