Immersion in the break
(as in the break of a wave)
is what must:
eradicate rigid acres
(counties of thought
fouling out dead tribunal banter);
open more than jars of relish
(mere tensepoints banking at cozy poembottom
in wreck’d clammy tangles).
Then the act of making
has to put up its dukes
against the action of what’s made.
Charged into more than life’s pretty corpse,
(if we die in life, our dreams die, too)
the poem activates,
evicts the jealous why,
embraces the prodigal hOW.
Odds & Ends: November 15, 2024
1 day ago
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