i like this one of mine.
it is completely true:




poems read by dead poets. a christmas gift

something odd and awful, unexpected
on silvered discs.
the voices of dead poets
their words, as familiar as morning coffee and buttered toast
their voices unexpected, unpleasant as
the corpse of a fly hidden in the blackberry jam.






well,i think, i've gone back far enough for now.

onward!