the difference is nightfall, a
gradual radiation of
words involved with energy. then you say
triumph, in a deep voice, and the pickles
that were in the jar explain
Deuteronomy. there's the first trick:
no one can explain Deuteronomy, but
love slips thru. thru what porous emblem, thru
what embargo? then sleep. then television.
then something about the way
nostrums work. meanwhile,
the rostrum, poets are crazy.
furthermore, lights on the lead
explicator. furthermore, sullen waxing
moon, or was that yesterday?
and you want poetry to guide you
but do you need to read? crazy.
sing about often. it's tired
when you look. the poem
hasn't mentioned your
love life, your keen
determination, not even your dreams
of peace, even us and them. what up,
as exacting? baby cakes,
those steely wartorn
uppity fucks. given more beer, you'd
trip over a shoe. that shoe
would be god. god would be dead.
you'd consult Deuteronomy. what
the fuck. and the rest
of the detergent
in your broom closet.
tired even to say,
this is enough. that's
poetry now, baby.
