for one month cleaved from twelve
take your verses to the coastline
cast them onto the water
with full confidence they will rest
on top of a temporary layer
of sugarcane that looks like plexiglass
>
this blessed state
expires at the click of midnight
on the not-so-merry First of May
when the sugarcane dissolves
literary creations submerge yet again
as public indifference reasserts itself
>
we will never see a National Poetry Year
No comments:
Post a Comment