Thursday, April 28, 2016


As I run, I grab an illusion from the ground
And tie it in place with a length of memory
I found in my pocket this morning.
It fits almost comfortably between
A few notes of music, a thunderbolt,
Election returns from 1824, the conclusion
Of a speech the Lost Dauphin would have made
If he’d ever been found, and a radish
Which played a featured role in a story
About the Baal Shem. Still your criticism;
I make myself from what's at hand
And no man can do more.

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