As If Worth Were Measured by Ambition

As if his poetry spread extraordinary wings

That shed bright vainglorious feathers

During a heedless dash up vast empty

Vocabularies O desperate happy sprint

Through infinitely indexed and ordered 

Winds unimpressed by such a spunky fool

Indifferent to the foolish pluck of such

A reckless and weak-pinioned poet

All debonair and devil-may-care yet

When he gets where he is going what

Does this two-bit sonneteer do but steal

The bone-heavy syntax of the moon

A word-chain cold and hard as fact

And see him smiling thinly as he falls

At the Same Time Suddenly Forever

Bitterly diffuse insight

Accidental green becoming gray

Yet when in all this

Avocado-salad of a day the sun

Too bright for this

Cold month when shall we win

Love or shall we lose

So long as we are still

Obscured by such similitudes as fact

Reveals a mystery

Or for the sake of your music your ear

Finds itself naked

And singing

Once again an anthem thank you

Forlorn sure but true

A banner-worthy song

For a beautifully ruined afternoon