Flux Comments

1

Come on poets,
word it

till it's yours
or no one's

the way the clock
on my nightstand,

long hand
bonking the numbers
feverishly,

is no one's



2

Sing Muse
of who's what
in this deluge.



The flux of dreaming
carries language with it.



A narrator
must stand aside
and mimic.



Where is he
when the whole worm
burns

from mouth to anus?



What is he
when the worm
refuses?
...
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