vines on a cold trellis

TO AN ELIZABETHAN WEARING SOUTH POLE

Something desiring to be
ridiculously posthumous

like starlight.

Do you think it's the 1600s?

I replayed the decades
of comments, debuts

and magnificent conundrums
you mated like Hapsburg lions

for the bloodline
of your poem,

your vengeful talk soup poem.





IVY AROUND US


The great separate show of love:

watching all lovers at their strange Mass.

If one is pressed to the horrible
it presumably becomes an expression.

Secret Period

in which humanity is The Middle.

Better omniscient than never

I always say,

sitting in your chair

plunk at the thrilling edge of It.





THE MEANINGFUL LIFE


According to the omnipresent
it was always "the Latter."

Treat humanity
as your best girlfriend.

Remember her or whatever.