THE FUTILITY OF TRYING
TO COMMUNICATE THE FUTILITY
OF COMMUNICATION


True poetry is to prose
not as dancing is to walking, but
as going on a pilgrimage is to
running for a bus.
There isn’t much of it around.

Truth is not a dancer, but a leper
at the gate beyond the honey, the money,
the glamour. Truth is a stammer, not a song.
The world and all things wonderful go wrong.


Pond
beneath a moonless sky:
Start and finish of everything.

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