This for certain, Keats has a temper;
he knows how to take it and dish it out.
Mark well when he warns us,
Keats will decode our doubts.
when war was first invented,
it was jealous of
the bridegrooms -
it left envious ruins
behold these inanimate signs
on a page of unlooked-at lines
concealed from the world by mass neglect
skipped by browsers that never connect
printed books run a risk:
silent, while life shouts.
yet a quiet surprise,
Enduring hot weather
is like avoiding a visitor's call:
stay hidden beneath
Infinity's shade, keep quiet and still.
MICROGRAPHIA catches its prey-
a spider's fate enlarged upon...
a mini-drama commemorating...what,
exactly? The spider is 'small...
Deep are the woods
but for wit's wild sake
I'll change my shape
discard my hesitant
Who killed the printed book?
Why and where for the answer look?
Not we, say the publishers,
We are the children of the Midwest sun:
its light has weight, measured musical tones.
'Come along, ' sang Empedocles,450 BCE,