NEW
old Ez
told me
told you
to treat each word
like a wooden block
a carved wooden block
bearing
the ideogram perfect
for this spot
but all these words in
some kind of crazy pattern
Canto after
Canto bouncing across
the page
and you in a cage
caught flirting with fascism
seduced into this madness
by Renaissance
economics
by Oriental sage
and your guard
kind of like the boy next door
nothing more American
than his
Thompson sub-
machine gun
your thumb snagging on the wire
a droplet of blood
to attest to
true causality
keep it simple, Classical,
make it new
Sent from my iPhone
poems 2 die for 