isn't this the enforced
senility of this world
with people the tiny grains of
amyloid plaque
billion upon billion?
isn’t it easy
isn’t it familiar
to open your eyes!
it is strange
& why didn’t the revolt
arrive?
those stretched-out ones
not as huge as they thought
trapped within the legend of
their failure
a few whitened stones
all that’s left
la poesia, lo specchio
dove la mano fruga
nel muschio delle scale
de
insicurezza
Roberto Sanesi,
“Harrington Gardens Suite”, A Selection
(Grosseteste, 1975), p 10
look!
you’re just the wrong social
class for long life
– so accept it
“A rooted man traffic bike
wavering does see most always
over ground, roaming a matter of
scripts from shadow on
the only apartments and a few
bushes to trees and a light-
ning storm that scares the
birds they’ve blown down to in
the wind. He drives off under
the clouds. Snow is swallowed.
Now nothing,
yet nothing, grows birds.”
Lyn Hejinian, from
“WALLS”, A Hundred Posters #38
(February 1979) n.p.
The Bowl & The Wave
grey rain falls
the white book darkens
[Written
After The Event]
This city becomes an impossible instrument
the last vision of a dying hillbilly king
while the town remains –
stillborn undeliverance within its grasp of
entropy
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