Monday, December 18, 2017

For the Great God Ammons

Tape still spins out of the year,
Archie, although what I’ve done
With it is both much

Less and more continuous
Than your single scroll.
Days need poetry

Free, formal, or gimmicky
For me to feel I’ve fixed them
In my glaring stare.

More than twenty-five hundred
Suns I’ve documented sins,
Now another one.

It’s cold in Salt Lake City,
Here near the turn of the year.

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