Wednesday, February 5, 2014


Yup—One must have 
a mind made up

I'd say, pretty much—
of mushy winter—this numbing and
punishing scourge

of a season—to read, 
or even 
worse, recall—

those white 
blank words
of old man Stevens—building

and deliberate

and bare 
his austere snowman character—so empty 
and care-

fully present 
to the cold—as to delimit, eventually
ly widening 

environs of 
so much 
of the nothing that's not-there;

and not 
to think—not of any one particular 

sound that just might 
do the trick—

but frankly
of simply 
assailing his memory

with a thick hail 
of symbolic-
ally—bitter middle fingers.