poem for July 21


hell, i wanted to float on words like farflung thunder.
ammo for taking out fluxing logograms.
riddled w presynaptic bits & piercings.
today i’m an ill-wisher on an isotherm,

cold heat from an explosion & an exploration
reading right across the tear.
anyone poisoned by words is a drunk but
no one who’s drunk is a swimmer.
eventually a metacenter sinks in raggish waves

(Hart Crane was born on July 21, 1899)

1 comment:

  1. trying to find something witty to say, i'll i can come up with is

    excellent poem

    what it lacks in wit makes up in sincerety