I'm Making Some Time

(a found poem)


I'm making some time
from chalk dust
thick with late.
Is that a problem?
Familiar and unrestrained,
sometimes wilder, sometimes swelling twisted
from what I find fascinating, I'm cherry-picking you some style--
old-fashioned self-consciously asymmetrical distain--
distracting God, to put it mildly feminine.
Art, the war-like male,
treacherous and subject to error, is still with us,
ambiguous, loud, nagging a straight line, eating
the fruit invented between signs. Feasts please
me.
But the sentimental wastes time, little and large with vowel.
Warning: Folly uses vocabulary no less loaded, its truth free,
harder and saner than loud complaint. Go now humble,
ungoverned, indifferent,
swirling around the final movement
between tragedies spectacular, self-absorbed, and the problem
we no longer think of repeating.