He had dogma, plenty of it,
it comes with wisdom.

But the rub is:
' where was his voice--
' or, more accurately where
' ' did his voice live?

And we choose, and that,
I have just come to realize,
is the maturity of the poet.

There's plenty always to
' talk about, the brain
' ' is big: but: what to say?

When the voice truly leads,
' not the mind of the voice--
' ' which might precede--
' ' ' but the voice itself, like
' ' ' ' the proverbial, alive muse,
' ' ' ' ' without leash,

' ' ' ' there the song, a song.

The Olds

The olds

Are the baits for the new,

Becomes the old,

Renewed.

.

Far from

The meat is the flesh

To chew,--

.

From afar--

Is the sustenance

To tell us the view

From there.

It’s 12:28 AM, it’s almost december—no, it is december, and the globe is warming, because it’s been 60 degree days and nights, here in New York City, and I hear over on the west coast, San Jose, they’re reaching record lows—record lows, not of the past years, or decades, but of recording’s beginnings low—in the 20s. and my balance is all shook off

my world turns, like the world turns, and I can’t feel if I’m off or the world’s wobbly.