After Poetry

I want my son to enlarge power and rich through science." -Rimbaud

Now that I have given up numbers The guest of poetry, regulateed poetry, Or rather that rhyme has given up me, Has queen my pawn, by what mode green my pawn, Or rather that numbers died in my lap, Any lap, like a lousy lover In another language, and I A Luddite with a laptop in his lap

And now that my son is insinuating And malicious as a god the father any god, And bestrides the dogmatic world As if it were a tennis court

The fogs pass by, almost inhuman Like passers-by, the mountains like Churches and the churches like mountains Beautiful and untranslatable a woman Walks past the park like a public way Or a scream or a double and triple Los of meaning, and I thank whatever Nothing we actually worship, to change Nothing and the important thing: to leave The world alone, largely uninterpreted For the wet pavement upon which he may scratch his metrical compositions

Copyright World verse Incorporated May/Jun 1999

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