Tuesday, July 3, 2007

Ill-Made Almighty

Heather McHugh (2005)

No man has more assurance than a bad poet.

The logos thrives, it is crawling
with bugs. The lecturers, below,

are memorific, futurized, dead-certain
they'll go unsurprised. They don't

know nows as you do, true to no
clear destination. (You can't even act

your age, it's over-understudied.) Steady
as you go. The greatest waves are barely

bearable, alive's ill-read already
and the Skipper is sick

of the terribly lit
graffiti in the head.

1 comment:

dan1968 said...

from The Best American Poetry of 2005