EMPTY
the plane is full
the plane is empty
every champagne bubble
could be its own
tiny universe
every chess match
ending in stalemate
and not
every island
is Devil’s island
not every
island has a
Devil
even the
Devil fears the advent
of pure nothingness
why
he could well be
so desperate
to rebuild, redecorate,
have
his domain
look more like Heaven
DEEP STRUCTURE
and suddenly, totally
unexpectedly
I fell into a poem
talking of manufacturing
consent for a
“great artist” and
the deep
structure of
irony
thinking of you
too excited for words
flying to that island
that
great M.I.T. brain
up in the clouds
eliding
your Kubrick
redacting
your Nabokov
soon to be
there with Woody
playing it again
and the gods of satire
drooling at the
thought of
the fall
from great grace
into their
realm of scruffy
syntax
and superbly sordid
semantics
poems 2 die for