For although memories, of a season, for example, Melt into a single snapshot, one cannot guard, treasure... That stalled moment. It too is flowing, fleeting; It is a picture of flowing, scenery, though living, mortal, Over which an abstract action is laid out in blunt, Harsh strokes.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
And no matter how all this disappeared, Or got where it was going, it is no longer... Material for a poem. Its subject Matters too much, and not enough, standing there helplessly While the poem streaked by, its tail afire, a bad Comet screaming hate and disaster....LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »