Monday, June 8, 2020

Maybe a Little More Limber

Poetry’s like a damn bug
Or a snake or a lobster
That way, unable to grow

Unless it bursts what it was,
And all the old tropes lying
Around now in ugly husks,

An embarrassing language
Of constraints and confessions.
We never had bones in us,

Or we never had enough
Skin in the game, but now look
At us! Pretty much the same.

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