home | back |
something
else for your poetry, no?
The pleasant day resists parsing, but tragedy too
discloses, deleting
provocation dressed in a paradox of
renaissance drag. Through silence
the utopia cries aloud: remove all
vegetation to achieve historical authenticity.
This is the great contradiction of joy. It moves by
exception, for which
there are no models, save pottery
fragments in plexiglass suspended by pins.
What image merits an afternoon in which the
colonel’s idleness expands
the idea of an audience only to be
deflated by ill-timed applause?
|
|