Monday, April 22, 2013

Great Literature has Nothing to Teach Us

A thin black 
crow calls like 
crazy from a tanked 
phone line 
laughing with nothing 
to say—

A white bag 
marked Thank You 
brims with bright
wind in a tree 
branch and no boons 
to gain—

The cardboard 
box letters of 
a fairweather busker 
lean hard on spare 
change having no place
to stay—

We're taught at least
three things
without being told: to leave
some things unmade, unsaid 
and unsold—

nothing left to learn leaves nothing
heavy to hold.

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