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.