Enconium For Bill Knott (1940-2014)

No longer
With us he 

Who was once
A real somebody, so 

Significant a poet
In his own out of it right, 

That he was
Soon enough written off 

By virtual slews
Of in “significant” poetic 

Nobodies—
Can you believe that? 

 

 

Quode Vide (Which See): Vicious Pseudo-Philosophic Circle

Nothing needs
Something with which to see, 

Something more visceral
Than nothing, something 

One can eviscerate all
The way past 

Nothing, you see? 

 

 

Good Grief, Charlie Brown!

 

What was it
We had to face
Every day? Let me see— 

For starters there was
The same old sun,
The moon,
The stars,
The bittersweet feel
Of coarse earth under bare feet. 

The main course was grin and bear it
Of course, though it wasn’t
All that bad in the end,
And one thing more
Just for the record—

Insecure brats we may have been,
But we knew for sure
Tomorrow would always be
A brand-new day!

 

 

Luddite Aporia On Desolation Row

Dear God, have a heart— 
How bare this

Wretched sandlot looks;
Where are all those

Ragtag tatterdemalion holy
Terrors that once played

Their ragged hearts out?
Scroll down your answer—

I know you know, stop
Tearing me apart.

 

 

 

A Musing Marquee Muse

Flighty one, wait
Long enough to see 

Your name in lights,
And you’ll miss 

Every curtain call
Save the last 

Dance for me,
Hack.