A poem of unmediated experience
begins a poem of unmediated experience.
I came to sprawled in the stiff white grass
of the shoulder, and they said stay still.
I came to, and they said hello again. A poem begins,
do you know what day it is?
What a tiny target, an aspirin strung on fishing line.
What a giant moon above the Arno. Ah Florence!
like a land of dreams before them, a poem begins.
Please obey the poetics of indeterminacy,
the grammar of silence.
The poetics of indeterminacy are.
Unfolding the moon is a mistake.
I still recall is a mistake. The likeness
of our bodies is a mistake—
Your name is, they began. Your phone.
It was the scene of someone’s accident—
my heart went out to him.