Classic Poem

Inch by inch, the paths breaking
into patches of blue and green

then black and brown, then
over the pass to the top of the

remotest interior, accustomed as
we are to torrential indifference

and beatific familiarity. “Look
up in the sky”—another ad for

vinyl tubing, pillow talk of
Whosits & Whatsits of Nob &

Kebob, Insley & Ufragious,
Ackabag & Boodalip. Bump right

along, pondering your song, while
roasting toast or grinding sand

or polishing the fabric softener
that stands between you and your

self. It was in 1943 and then again
one more time. Beat bird without a

feather to call its own, a miser who
lives on a pile of mylar, the studio

with the view of the studio, my
electric blinker maker, strapped

in for take off. NO FLOATING
ALLOWED. As quiet as

the steps to indelible vanishing.











Used by permission of the author.