essay 39
the rate of
creation of poetry is equal to
the pressure
of green fire against
despair, slowly raining ash from lost money
into eyes
forward,
talk moves & dives urbanly
a gash
lists over random
words a breathing:
neoteric
links hold
if these are
the
disconnections,
go till acid
soil, papyrus digs itself up,
a drummer
stumbles on
a new tongue;
lagged
unrecent flappable;
regard at
dagger non-point
you can’t or
rather won’t
follow the
pattern or trad form
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