This is a disposable poem.
Under each stanza
is a perforated line
...
‘The moral rights of the author
have been asserted’… that, I’m told,
is what I should say when I write
anything for publication here; even before
...
and because their soul
had found a rest
beyond action
...
Delicate, so frail now, almost
apologetic for their presence,
like the longtime bed-bound
taking their first unaccompanied walk,
...
The Rajah's court, it's said, sat dumb with grief,
their sorrow that of those who truly love,
on February the eighteenth, and full moon,
three thousand, one-O-two years ere Christ's birth;
...
As I walked in the sunlight
and slowed at the pedestrian crossing
a woman waiting there
laughed
...
'The British elections are not firing the voters,
since they don't trust politicians any more...'
cor stone the crows!
...
I forgot to look
where the sidewalk ends
so now I'm
one inch tall
...
Can you remember
when you were, oh, five,
and something just more perfect than
whatever that word meant then
...