when I read a poem like this I often turn the page.
there appears to be no texture, no colour
only the music of someone biting an apple.
when I read a poem like this,
it occurs to me that my clothes are beginning to sag,
that the neighbour’s dog is at the garbage again.
a banality as clipped as this
will surely go a long way,
it will pass from hand to hand like a fairground token,
people will express gratitude,
aware of its utility within the confines
of a place stood outside care and time.
that is the poem’s only gift to the world.
After a Quote by Reznikoff
1 November 2015