Here you will find the Poem The Tall Figures of Giacometti of poet May Swenson
We move by means of our mud bumps. We bubble as do the dead but more slowly. The products of excruciating purges we are squeezed out thin hard and dry. If we exude a stench it is petrified sainthood. Our feet are large crude fused together solid like anvils. Ugly as truth is ugly we are meant to stand upright a long time and shudder without motion under the scintillating pins of light that dart between our bodies of pimpled mud and your eyes.
