There are songs and poems that show up in my head without warning. I don’t know why it is that Arlo Guthrie’s “Motorcycle Song” is so very appealing to my unconscious. There are times when it is going so strong I cannot concentrate on reading. And I do not much love Philip Larkin, but his “Talking in Bed,” sails on into my brain every couple weeks. It crowds out most other thoughts. Dark towns! Heap up! So I thought I’d crowd back, make the poem do something else. Why let it always push me around? Below, please find what Google has to say about Larkin’s tercets.

Talking in bed ought to be easiest

Lying together there goes back so far

An emblem of two people being honest.

Yet more and more time passes silently.

Outside the wind’s incomplete unrest

builds and disperses clouds about the sky.

And dark towns heap up on the horizon.

None of this cares for us. Nothing shows why

At this unique distance from isolation

It becomes still more difficult to find

Words at once true and kind

Or not untrue and not unkind.
