“It’s not a love of poetry readings that attracts those who do come to them but theater.”

You came one day and
as usual in such matters
significance filled everything—

wdn't it be silly to be serious, now:
I mean, the hardheads and the eggheads

are agreed that we are an absurd

Not smart to be out under trees with the wind still this
high: billowing & breaking bring down stob ends
of last year's drought-wood that died way up in the branches,

My poems, if poems
other than casual
entrances into systems, are

of cloud dispute
the sky of late afternoon,
the going sun suspended