February 13th, 2006




Sometimes I think only the poetry is real:
the gnostic fact, which all the junk accreted on top of it
can never quite obscure

All the fabulous self-impressed pretension
the dramatic explanations of the little ego why this time
it really isn't being a jayhole,
this time it's serious, its point is serious, and all must respect it

And then again,

sometimes I'm quite sure that only the junk is real,
only the dross of centuries repeated forever
the mangled bodies the theft the lies the predation
and a few idiot poets
like yours truly
vainly holding out

And then, of course,
(like you didn't know)

I realize that's a distinction without a difference;

And smile, get some iced coffee, fire up a stoge
and get back to work.

93 93/93 -- AJ