BROKE-ASS
came across a broke-ass poet
sort of all medieval minstrally meandering around
strange how the Carolingans also had their surrealists
just didn’t know it
thought that search for artistic holy grail
the most dubious pilgrimage,
most apeshit quest
of them all
and you have to be careful
in an age of belief
you cannot shake off
full-throttle God-rollicking
divine diss from place most
high
you are not going to come back from
recovering in sanatorium
placed
on injured reserve
but
here
in our age of sidetrack
no one
gonna get
allow themselves to get
railroaded
so hopelessly
find themselves suddenly cast up on desert shore
fate worse
than turning bankrupt
becoming the thing
your father’s whole being was
so well protected against
and yet
my dear saint, so grievously arrowed,
a smattering of suffering (dint
of raw chaos)
might just do the trick
to shoot you
to Olympus for
(statue, no statue) sweet consultation with Apollo
poems 2 die for 