Tipping point (‘Blues for skip’)

By | 13 May 2024

my skin is deathly pale
which is about the only thing I have in common with Keats

if this were the nineteenth century
I’d worry if I really was consumptive
or just capital R romantic

at present all my shirts are hanging up at home
in chronological order waiting to be worn

the lecture is titled: expanding on the poetic line
but I keep looking at my plastic watch

I could go on forever
about how I can’t find a job
or a park in the city

I notice myself describing
how empty the well is
like: that’s the poem!

somewhere online a penguin
is referred to as a business goose

I have always been conscious
that my formality was excessive

no ideas but in things

at night the radio plays love song dedications
even though no one is listening
(not even me)

there’s a tipping point
where a bad enough translation
becomes a new poem
altogether

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