Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Nihil Ad Rem

There's snow
all over my poem
this morning—
I can hardly read the words—
I think
they were keen
and tactful and taut
and their logic cut clean
with quick heat—but now
just rows of sloppy
trees
columns of idle
cars
distant indiscriminate
architecture
awash in
faceless white—
what once stood,
perfectly
good—now just

perfect.

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