13 January 2025
in absentia
some
small talent
barely distinguishable from that of the plethora of other poets in other bodies in other
places
where the wicked flame of life
(flame to life I should have)
and the unnecessary angles of inventiveness glitter like so much
unnecessary early twentieth century european art glittering, that is, off
uniforms
and uniform nations of sensation
(of itself I should have)
until slow times are predictable well
that will never happen