The Love Song of F. Alfred Prufrock

Today I obtained a copy of the Selected Poems of T. S. Eliot, and I am absolutely astounded at the brilliance of his work. It makes me want to hop on the South Shore and go to Chicago at this very moment so I can go sit in that park off of Michigan Avenue and read poetry while the last drops of daylight drip down the mural wall like delectibly warm paint. One of my fondest memories that I should update soon. I must gather some Chicago-loving friends and take a trip.

I will place my hand in his
across the wasted threads of rhyme
and bound about the corners
ever splintered and sublime
we shall sit upon the crest
of an ocean green and flowing
And wonder at our brilliant way
of loving without knowing
When ink no longer holds the thoughts
pressed tight into the pages
The memory of moment's grasp
turns simpletons to sages
And this shall be our paradigm:To live like we are out of time.